


Living Memory, My Fate to Follow

by elsa3beth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Military Background, News Media, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Politics, The Force, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 58,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29262768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsa3beth/pseuds/elsa3beth
Summary: Ben Kenobi expected his tutelage on Tatooine under the force spirit of Qui-Gon Jinn to yield a new perspective on the galaxy and his place within it. He just did not expected his last lesson to be so…literal.  Finding himself back in the early days of the Clone Wars, Ben, now once again General Obi-Wan Kenobi, must struggle with the failures of a past he has long suppressed, while others conspire to give him hope for a future that might yet be.It is a road paved with military minutia, media faux pas, senate chicanery, battles you may find boring, inconsistent tone, clones and OCs left and right, good jedi, and delightfully unnecessary angst conjured at the writer’s whim. Buckle up, dear readers…
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Yoda
Comments: 105
Kudos: 240





	1. Prologue: Archival Logs

**Author's Note:**

> This story is written entirely from Ben's perspective (a dangerous writing decision I'm sure I will regret). I have plans to put other perspectives in a companion piece. It is written as a friend-fic, with no plans for romance beyond past references.

Some readers (aka, my Mom), know nothing about the Star Wars universe, beyond a vague familiarity with the names ‘Yoda’, ‘Luke’ and ‘Vader’ and some sort of magic called the ‘Force’. Certainly any details of those dreadful prequel films have been long buried in sand, and the cartoon ‘Clone Wars’ lost to the records of another generation. 

For any such readers, I offer below a brief primer on some pertinent historic events relevant to the hero-protagonist of my story, as drafted in his own sometimes dry, sometimes brooding hand.  
  
(Follow-up: Mom has since reported that she things these entries are all made up, and there are too many characters. Thanks mom! only one of these is made up!)

More…educated…readers: you may skip this tumble through temple logs (though the last 2 are quite enjoyably angsty!), I will but warn you that Ben’s original timeline is ‘mostly’ (but not entirely) faithful to the Clone Wars show, however it ignores legends (ie, books like wild space) at least on the surface. You will, though, spot one or two not so subtle homages to familiar legends stories as Ben carves his new path.

_~*~_

_[Mission Report, 1003.5.2  
_ _Mission: Naboo v Trade Federation  
_ _Report Author: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan ]_

_Master Qui-Gon Jinn and myself have pursued and killed a dark force user, a zabrack with distinctive red and black head markings, who wielded a red lightsaber staff. Master Jinn died of his wounds on the scene. I believe this darksider to be a Sith, or Sith acolyte. He was proficient in the saber forms Jar-kai and Niman and he felt dark in the force. He named himself ‘Darth Maul’. I will be taking Master Jinn’s body with me back to Coruscant for a proper pyre burial._

_As to the matter of the Trade Federation--the droid army on Naboo were defeated by the combined forces of Queen Padme Amidala’s Theed guard, and that of the swamp natives—the Gungans. Further, the orbiting droid factory was destroyed by a squadron of jet fighters. This conflict has thus been resolved, though I worry that this is but the first in many conflicts to come, given the reach of the Trade guild._

_Master Jinn’s dying wish was that the boy we rescued from Tatooine—Anakin Skywalker—be trained in the ways of the jedi. He believed him to be the Chosen One of the ancient prophecies. I cannot say I entirely agree with my Master in this regard, but should the Council choose to put me through my Knighthood trials, I will take Anakin as my Padawan learner in his memory._

_~*~_

_[Mission Report, 1008.9.10  
_ _Mission: Cato Neimodia  
_ _Report Author: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Knight ]_

_This mission was an utter route and I wish it good riddance. Due to my utter incapacitation from a spice overdose, my Padawan Learner, Anakin Skywalker, was forced to lead the negotiations. Anakin’s incompetency in the matter of diplomacy is balanced only by his sheer power in the force. If I hadn’t vomited all over representative Danoon’s gown, I think Anakin might have fought the entire enclave on his own! You will have to read_ his _report for an accounting of what actually happened. My own I’m informed is quite biased._

 _And no, Anakin, this does_ not _count as a ‘save’. I rather think we both owe my wayward stomach for this one._

_~*~_

_[Mission Report, 1013.10.30  
_ _Mission: Senator Amidala Assassination Attempt  
_ _Report Author: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Knight ]_

_The bounty hunter targeting Senator Amidala was armed with darts manufactured by a niche supplier. So niche, in fact, that they were not contained in the jedi archives [see note: archive security breach]. The suppliers were the Kaminoans, of the Kamino System in the outer rim, adjacent Hutt Space. I traveled to Kamino to confirm the supply, and found much more than just arms dealers. The Kaminoans are famous first and for most as the galaxy’s most skilled cloners, a reputation confirmed by my contact on Coruscant._

_Upon my arrival, I was greeted by the prime minister of Kamino, Lama Su, as well as their chief scientist Nala Se. Both informed me that they were nearly done with our ‘order’ – an order put in, purportedly, by Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas, on behalf of the Galactic Republic. The order was for a clone army comprised of three million clones. I have since confirmed that Sifo-Dyas died, that is to say, joined the force, around this same time, which makes such a claim deeply suspicious._

_I could not pursue the matter further, however, as I was then informed of another guest on Kamino, the template for these clones, one Jango Fett. He is the man who I believe to be ultimately behind Senator Amidala’s assassination attempt. A bounty hunter of grave reputation—our own archives note that he killed five jedi at the ill-fated battle of Galadran._

_On Kamino he was polite enough, but when questioned on who paid him to be involved with the cloning program, he named a ‘Lord Tyranus’, and promptly made attempts to leave the system. I of course followed him. I am now on the planet Geonosis, and if you find this message than I have left my ship and am hopefully infiltrating the stronghold into which Fett disappeared._

_~*~_

_[Mission Report, 1013.11.08  
_ _Mission: Senator Amidala Assassination Attempt  
_ _Report Author: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Knight ]_

_My attempted infiltration of the stronghold on Geonosis ultimately failed. Before my capture however, I was able to observe a meeting, led by former Jedi Master Yan Dooku, now sporting the title ‘Count’. The meeting included representatives of the Trade Federation, as well as the Banking Guild, Techno Guild, and several outer rim systems. It was clear from this meeting that this coalition represents a material threat to the republic. Once captured, Dooku himself interrogated me, but it was a short and bitter exchange. He insinuated that some evil or corruption sat at the heart of the Senate and asked me to join him. I declined, and so my fate was sealed. I was only just saved from a public execution at the hands (or claws) of some rather dramatic beasts, by the late arrival of my wayward Padawan._

_He may have broken several rules, but I will admit that without Anakin and Senator Amidala, I would not have survived the execution. But that is a matter for a later time. For our victory was fleeting. No sooner did we dispose of our executioners, then did Dooku raise his hand to summon the entire crowd down upon us, and we had to be saved by outside forces. This time led by Master Yoda, who I have since learned traveled to Kamino to retrieve the first batches of this ‘clone’ army, and came in force to Geonosis, with over 300 jedi, and a quarter of a million clone troopers._

_I know not the flow of the overall battle—early reports have listed in excess of 200 jedi and 50,000 troopers killed, numbers I have trouble imagining. My only focus was on Dooku, who fled the battle in the stronghold arena to retreat to a private launch pad. Anakin and I followed, and perhaps we would have been better off had we not. We dueled but were defeated. I was incapacitated by saber strikes to my shoulder and thigh; my Padawan soon to follow, losing his right hand, a scar that I fear will irrevocably change him. Dooku is indeed a worthy opponent. We would be dead if not for the intervention of Master Yoda. That this once jedi could turn to the dark…he poses a grave risk to the Republic. One we cannot ignore._

_~*~_

_[Fleet Report, 1014.3.20  
_ _Fleet: Third Systems Army  
_ _Battle: Christophsis  
_ _Report Author: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master, High General ]_

_I have just picked up the 8 th Sector Army, which comprises the second half of my assigned forces—the 7th and 8th Sectors together forming the Third Systems Army. This pick-up was two weeks delayed by matters on Christophsis, and I must reflect on what drove that battle to be so protracted. The Separatist General we faced, Whorm Loathsom, was renowned for a reason, it would appear, but I believe the largest blame can be placed on an outside factor—Count Dooku’s newest apprentice, Assaj Ventress. I cannot say much about her, but that she is a slim woman of perhaps mid-twenties, with white-grey skin, and no hair. The look is as intimidating as it is unflattering, if she were to ask my opinion. She is a skilled user of dual wielding Makashi—a very unusual combination of saber forms. _

_Ventress is clever though—she infiltrated our own ranks, bribing a sergeant in the 212 th Battalion to spy on us. We had not considered that clone conditioning would permit such treachery. With the full plan of our deployment in her ear, it is no wonder we were out maneuvered, as well as out played. By the time we convinced her to leave via aggressive negotiations, our entire planetside force of AT-TE mech walkers was destroyed, making any frontal assault against Loathsom questionable at best. _

_The only positive thing to say about the engagement is that Anakin’s new Padawan learner, Ahsoka Tano, appears to be rising to the occasion. I don’t believe Anakin would have been able to clear the shipyard’s shields had he not had her with her, and without the shield down my own forces would have been lost._

_~*~_

_[Fleet Report, 1014.4.1  
_ _Fleet: Third Systems Army  
_ _Battle: Ryloth  
_ _Report Author: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master, High General ]_

_I feel that I’ve finally built a rapport with my clone battalion. We were in charge of clearing the mountain of proton cannon’s so that Master Windu could bring in the bulk of the First Systems Army. Commander Cody and I opted for small team infiltrations along the ridge lines, to great success. It did not hurt my reputation that so many moments of the maneuvers required light use of the Force._

_Unfortunately we did not reach the fortress in time to save jedi Master Ima-Gun; we learned that he had died several days ago, defending the pass so that the families of freedom fighters could escape. What was left when we made it through the droid line was confinement camps and refugee slums. It should have been demoralizing, but the twi’lek people were kind and welcoming. They were very grateful for our efforts, and I hope the First Army can clear the rest of Ryloth from the oppressive control of the Separatists, to set these people free._

_~*~_

_[Fleet Report, 1015.2.14  
_ _Fleet: Third Systems Army  
_ _Battle: Geonosis (2 nd)  
_ _Report Author: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master, High General ]_

_I am writing this report from the med bay, where I have been since after the taking of the landing zone on Geonosis, Point Rain. My own story is brief: my gunship was shot down several klicks from the landing zone. A nasty crash that only myself and ARC trooper Trapper survived. A retrieval team was sent by Commander Cody (Lieutenant Waxer and trooper Boil deserve commendations), and we were brought bodily to the cluster of rocks we labeled Point Rain. I sustained a leg injury, concussion, and internal bleeding and could only advise for the rest of the battle. And it was a very hard fought battle indeed to hold that landing zone—we could not barrage their cannons until their shield was down, but with the cannons up we had no air support. The battalions were sitting tookas._

_The Geonosians surprised us near sunset, when a large dust storm cloaked their approach. Our sentries were overwhelmed, and they were upon us before we realized what was happening. When the dust cleared our losses were grave. And yet it was only the beginning of a coordinated strike, for not an hour after the dust attack, we spotted a squadron of incoming bombers. We would have been lost had not Anakin and General Mundi reached us then—their own gunships having been shot down even further from the landing than my own._

_It was General Skywalker and General Mundi who led the final assault on the droid factory. You will have to refer to their reports for details. As the supervising General of the Third Systems, I can only list our summary losses from this, our Second Battle of Geonosis:_

_15,428 dead  
_ _4,821 seriously injured  
_ _7,103 minor injured  
_ _31 LA-AT gunships damaged/destroyed beyond repair  
_ _66 AT-TE walkers damaged/destroyed beyond repair_

_~*~_

_[Council Report, 1016.6.14  
_ _Mission: Savage Opress / New Sith Apprentice  
_ _Report Author: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master]_

_Dooku appears to have a new apprentice, but there are a number of facts which are not adding up. The apprentice is called ‘Savage Opress’, and he is a zabrack, from, if Mother Talzin is to be believed, the same clan as Darth Maul, the darkside user who killed my Master so long ago. We have now fought Savage three times, once alone, twice beside Count Dooku. The Count, it would seem, has a long standing relationship with the Nightsisters of Dathomir—a coven of ‘witches’, as they label themselves. They have provided all of his apprentices to date, for reasons I cannot fathom. I was skeptical of such titles as ‘witches’ and ‘spirits’, but having recently been to Dathomir, and having met Mother Talzin, I must say there are powers there beyond the kin of the Jedi. A frightening thought, as Assaj Ventress, who has so long been a thorn in our side, is one of these Nightsisters, and a potent enemy._

_That too is a subject for remark—there appears to have been a falling out between Ventress and Dooku. At the battle of Sullest five months ago, Dooku abandoned Ventress mid-battle, leaving her to duel with Anakin and I while the cruiser we were aboard disintegrated. By the time we encountered her again, at the temple of Devaron, she was actively avoiding him. But while the enemy of my enemy should by my friend, Ventress has chosen her own path. She seems to have some connection with Savage, but is just as intent upon killing my own person as always.  
_

_~*~_

_[Personal holocron, 1016.8.3  
_ _Mission: Raydonia  
_ _Report Author: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master]_

_I am a fool. A fool and a failure. I should never have gone to Raydonia, certainly not alone. Darth Maul is alive; alive and not alone, and very intent upon seeking revenge. But Maul and Savage Opress together are too powerful for any one jedi to face—too powerful I would hazard, for even a pair of jedi._

_I went to Raydonia, hoping to stop their senseless killing of innocents on that rural planet, not truly believing the holo image showing the perpetrator. It was of course a trap. A trap I only escaped through the unlikely help of Assaj Ventress, who has her own quarrel with Savage. We jettisoned Maul and Savage into an escape pod, though I do not hold any hope that they will be waylaid for long. It merely gave me time to return to my fleet, and Ventress time to set her own course._

_I must ask the Council what we are to do. My vision is clouded by the enemy of old, but my heart tells me we must be wary. This is not the last we will see of Maul or Savage._

_~*~_

_[Personal holocron, 1017.1.4  
_ _Mission: Mandalore  
_ _Report Author: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master]_

_I should have listened to the forewarnings of my heart, so many months ago, when it whispered that Maul would return to haunt us. He has brought me to ruin. That he did not know the extent to which his revenge would break me until the moment it arrived makes it all the worse._

_It started with a plea for help from the Mandalore system—Duchess Satine Kryze implored that I come to her aid, as her government was overthrown in a coup led by the terrorist organization Death Watch. It was a plea she knew and no doubt_ Maul _knew, I could not refuse. You will recall that I knew the duchess personally; I spent a year during my Padawan days defending her from assassination attempts, and we became very close. I could little refuse any call for my help, let alone from her._

_The council forbid my involvement of course. Mandalore is a neutral system—the Republic could not be seen to intervene in private politics of an unaffiliated world, and the jedi are an extension of the republic. But there could never be any doubt that I would go. As Maul had planned. And of course I was captured. Maul planned that too._

_Satine Kryze is dead. Murdered by Maul while I watched. Bound and useless. As useless as the vaunted jedi order in this war, as we claim to be peace keepers yet shirk from those very events which might bring peace to war torn words like Mandalore. I cannot look my order in the eye—cannot look myself in the eye. Maul’s victory was thorough, for he has taken from my not just someone I cared for, he has taken away my faith. Yoda tells me my emotions will fade with time, but I do not know that I believe him._

_The next time I encounter Maul, I will kill him. _

_~*~_

_[Council Report, 1017.5.24  
_ _Mission: Chancellor Rescue  
_ _Report Author: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master]  
  
_

_This was a messy mission, not just in its aftermath, but also in its execution. When the Council was informed of the Chancellor’s kidnapping, we knew it would be difficult, but I feel there may be more at play here. Why was the Chancellor held on the bridge of Dooku’s ship, instead of the brig? Why did Dooku fight in front of him, when he could have used the Chancellor as leverage? Something does not fit. But all I can do is report the course of the battle as I observed it._

_When we reached the rear bridge, it was a quick matter to disable the droids, even those baring electro staffs, which left just Dooku. It was a strange parallel to that duel so long ago on Geonosis. My skill with a blade is now a near equal to Dooku’s, but the dark side has lent him brute strength I will never own. A powerful force throw knocked my against a metal bulkhead, rendering me temporarily unconscious. I awoke sometime later, carried across Anakin’s back. He informed me that Dooku was dead, and from the jerking of the ship, it seemed to be in poor shape. Together we climbed to the second, frontal bridge, where we could do nothing more than buckle in and shift the metal carcass of that ship into a controlled fall. So it was that we demolished the plaza and hover lanes approaching the senate building, but just barely avoided collapsing the entire senate dome._

_Hundreds were injured or killed in the crash nonetheless, and I must ask if it was worth it. A chancellor is a representative of the people, and that symbol is important, but should not the people come first?_

_But at least Dooku is no longer a threat. Only Grievous remains, and once he is gone, perhaps this dreadful war will finally be at an end._

_~*~_

_[Personal holocron, 1017.6.1  
_ _Subject: Grievous at Utapau  
_ _Report Author: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master]_

_My clone troopers have turned on me. I am recording now as I make transit in a fighter, to reach sanctuary on Senator Bail Organa’s ship in the Center Rim. I cannot make sense of it. I was sent to Utapau to capture General Grievous. Our troop landing was successful, and, more than that, my infiltration for once worked as planned—I dropped right on top of Grievous, and after a protracted duel in which I sliced off two of his four arms, I was finally able to kill him with a blaster bolt to the heart. He was supposed to mark the end to the Separatist threat, but not ten minutes later my troops turned proton cannons against me._

_I lay low that I might learn what had happened, and they appear to have received orders to terminate all Jedi as traitors to the republic. The question is, orders from who? And what incentive were they given, that they would turn their backs on nearly four years of comradery?_

_May the force be with us all._

_~*~_

_[Personal holocron, 1017.7.2  
_ _Subject: Desecration of the Jedi Temple  
_ _Report Author: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master]_

_I can hardly speak of what I have seen. After reconnoitering with Master Yoda aboard Organa’s ship, we detected a message coming from the jedi temple, directing any jedi to return there. We could not let the message continue, luring jedi to their death; so to the temple we went._

_The revered halls of my home have been coated in blood. Only bodies did we find there—younglings, elders—no one was spared. And fallen amongst them, the perpetrators. Members of Anakin’s personal battalion of clone troopers, the 501 st._

_Master Yoda and I succeeded in disabling the distress message, replacing it with a command for all jedi to stay away, and go into hiding. My encryption should keep it running for a few weeks at least. I had thought that no grief could equal that which I felt at Satine’s death, but I was wrong. This, this slaughter of my family…I do not know how we can move forward from here._

_And that is not even the worst part. No. The worst is what we saw on the security holos. The 501 st were not alone. Anakin, my padawan, my brother, he led them. To the temple. He participated. I cannot believe that he has turned to the dark side, but there is no other explanation. Yoda seems far less surprised than me, but he will not say why. Have I been blind? Was there a sign that I missed? If only Qui-Gon were here to guide me. _

_I’ve been ordered by Master Yoda, to find Anakin and see that he can harm no others. I do not know if I have the strength to do what is needed. May the force sustain me where my heart cannot._

_~*~_

_[Personal holocron, 1017.7.2_  
_Subject: Goodbye  
_ _Report Author: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master]_

_It was Padme that led me to Anakin, unknowing. I confronted her on Coruscant, confirming my suspicions that her pregnancy—the children she is expecting—they are Anakin’s. I have had my struggles with attachment, but if I ever needed a living proof of the dangers that lay therein, it was here before me._

_My heart did not fail me when the moment came, at least not entirely. Padme’s ship led me to Mustafar, and there on that lava flow of a planet, Anakin and I fought. He was filled with so much hate and bitterness. I grieve to think what could have engendered such hate—hate towards me, hate towards the order. But hate has always been a chaotic emotion; perhaps it is pointless to seek meaning in it? Or perhaps I have been too afraid of my own anger to confront it in my padawan. Perhaps this is why Yoda sent me on this mission--final lesson. I do not thank him for it._

_I left Anakin on the shores of the lava. I’d cut off both his legs, and he was catching on fire. I should have given him a mercy killing, but to do so would have required looking at him, and every time I tried, his yellow, rage filled eyes, would deprive me of my courage. So I left him there, burning alive, and I am shamed for it._

_Padme Amidala did not long survive the birth of her two two healthy babies._

_It may have been Anakin’s attack on her—his choke hold when she landed on Mustafar—but I feel it was her spirit that was broken. Bail and I have discussed it, and it has been decided that the baby girl, Leia will be taken by Bail and his wife Breha, to be raised as their own. I will take the boy, Luke, to his remaining relatives on Tatooine, and watch over him. They are both already bright in the force, though only newborns._

_Master Yoda has declared his intent to go to Dagobah, in exile. It is a planet rich in the living force, and I hope that he may find solace there. My own emotions are too clouded to bring me anything but miserable grief in the desert, but Yoda has left me with one last hope: he has, or so he claims, begun communing with the spirit of Qui-Gon Jinn, of all people._

_Qui-Gon was always rather interested in the ancient writings of forgotten temples, and it seems that his studies were not without merit. One such temple spoke of a way to retain your consciousness within the Force, allowing a part of you to live on even after death. If Yoda is to be believed, Qui-Gon has mastered this art, and I am to re-apprentice to my master of old that I may learn it too._

_I leave now for Tatooine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reposted with a few typo fixes; sorry if this triggers subscribers, I'm still new to the UI here.


	2. Chapter 1: Lessons

_He felt his blade cut through muscle and bone in a devastating strike. The force screamed and his feet burned from the heat coming off the lava, even with his hard boots, but he had eyes only for the torso writhing before him._

_His brother._

_Agony was clear across that too-young brow, and he was reaching for his Master, reaching for help, as he had on so many missions before—how could he have done this to his brother?--except his eyes were rimmed with yellow and—_

_I **hate** you!_

“No.” he said aloud. “I cannot go there.”

“There is a lesson in every memory, Padawan.”

“Then it is a lesson I am not yet ready to learn, Qui-Gon.”

“Burying it won’t help.”

“Some memories do not dull with time. It merely polishes their blade. Do you chastise me for not wanting to get cut?”

He felt a motion in the force presence beside him that he interpreted as a shake of the head. “Let us try another memory then. One less painful.”

Obi-Wan stood up, needing to walk to settle his emotions. The dry creek bed his cave was perched within was hard and crusted; exposed bedrock interspersed with patches of blown sand. He wanted to run his bare feet across something with _give_. To feel thousands of particles of quartz and silica squeeze through the gap in his toes as he left indentations on the dunes.

As he walked, Qui-Gon offered suggestions.

“We could revisit your last visit to the temple, what you learned of the take over of Coruscant and the senate.”

_Children, their bodies curled defensively where they’d fallen to the floor, heads severed with decisive--_

“No.”

“Perhaps we can explore the matter of the clones—”

_A soldier was prodding a pile of brown robes on the ground, "One less traitor for the Republic.”_

“Perhaps, Master, we could avoid the war all together.”

Qui-Gon faded from his senses, and he walked for a time, alone with memories he did not want. His master reappeared when he crested the first dune.

 _“I am sorry, Obi-Wan”_ It was more a whisper than full words. _“I can see that it is too soon.”_

It would always be too soon, he thought.

He had reached the softer sand now and he reveled in the lingering warmth it held, the twin suns almost level with the horizon. His boots were tied to his waist by their laces, should he need them, but his feet were well calloused already. It had begun as an exercise in the living force, an attempt to increase the number of connection points with the natural world, but had become a daily indulgence. By the time he crested the embankment to reach one of the larger dunes, his feet had been sated, and he used one foot to dig an indentation in the sand. Surface leveled, he sat down once more.

“If we must study the war, let it be an early memory.” He said to the air.

“A wise suggestion, Padawan mine. Perhaps the day you met Ahsoka?”

Ben sighed in relief. “Yes. We were on Christophsis…”

It was a ritual they had practiced many cycles, and it was clear this aspect of his studies would last many more to come. In truth, this was a training that would take years.

~*~

He was not wrong in his estimate. And after one skill was learned, another would be put before him.

Ben could feel the last rays of light leave his back as Tatooine’s second sun finally set behind the ridgeline. The wind stilled, and the Force with it, as the molecules in the air began to cool; an infinitesimal change to their trajectories that was nonetheless perceptible in the Force, as the Force passed through all things. It was a soothing release. With the stilling of the wind came a settling of sand. Its constant swirling paused. And with the settling of the sand came silence. 

In that silence Ben sat for a time.

He sat until he could feel the phantom of mist on his palms, the still warm air hitting the rapidly cooling sand and condensing, an act which brought latent energy—energy first lost from the departing suns—slowly seeping back. He stretched his senses further, to the Lars farm. The gentle twirl of misty condensing energy on the sands was magnified in the moisture traps around the farming compound. A _thrum thrum thrum_ to his senses. 

He savored it.

_thrum thrum thrum_

And then his senses moved to the flaming torch that was Luke’s presence, in the main household.

“I begin to think you do not _want_ to learn, my Padawan.”

Ben does not turn his head to meet the voice, but he does push his senses beyond the Lars family, feeling the smooth sand as it rolls towards Mos Eisley in the East. There are many more lights there. The life lights of fellow beings; and dim though non force sensitives might seem in the shadow of his own Padawan’s son, they still glow like warm embers.

“The purpose of the exercise is to attune your senses. You make it harder on yourself when you continue to blind them instead.”

“Perhaps I have merely moved beyond your teachings, Master. For beyond the heat of every star’s surface lays an ocean of details and forces. You need only teach yourself to squint.”

Qui-gon makes a grunting sigh of well-humored disagreement. “I’m not sure human cornea’s would agree with that analogy, Padawan” They lapsed into companionable silence. At length, Ben drew his presence back to himself, focusing his Force energy towards his friend and former Master, his eyes still closed, his face held forward.

“I feel it. It is as you say – darkness is encroaching upon this entire sector. From Koiogra to Arkanis, which is as far as my senses can yet go. And . . . I felt, or rather lost the feel for . . . that is to say, I believe another Jedi has become one with the Force.”

Ben senses Qui-Gon hesitate before he replies, “If you can sense that change then you are ready. And as you are ready, I will remind you that to become one with the Force is not the loss you imagine. The world may morn, that we can no longer shape it with our physical bodies, but in the Force, we are not lost. Changed, but not lost.”

“So you have said before. And yet so I continue to doubt.”

“Then your next challenge, Padawan-mine, is to take your senses inward. What do your senses tell you when they are focused on _me_?”

Ben mentally sighs unflatteringly, feeling far more like an adolescent padawan learner than the Master in the Unifying Force he was once thought to be. But of course, his present exercise was all about the Living Force. He let his senses saturate the air around him, holding in his mind the image of his master, shrouded in the blue halo of the Force. It was different than when he looked at Luke, or those in Mos Eisley. It was blue in his mind, rather than white; rounder . . . softer? Yet shapes and colors can hardly encompass the extent of it … he felt as if the energy all around him – the molecules in the air, the latent heat of condensation, the power of the gentle wind was coalescing at a single point; as if Qui-gon was woven of those elements, like a great quilt. It was breathtaking in its subtlety, and detail.

“It is as if . . . you are a tapestry of the world around you, Master.” And Ben’s inflection on the word ‘Master’ was an apology, for in this art, Qui-gon truly was a Master.

“And when you look at Luke?”

Ben does not need to look back to the Lars farm to reply; he had stared long enough at Luke over the past 6 years as to have his Force presence well and truly imprinted on the backs of those same corneas Qui-gon was so quick to mock. “He is a furnace, his energy pressing brightly out into the darkness.”

“And how would a jedi hide that light from those who might seek it?”

 _Shields of course_. But it is too obvious an answer to be the truth his Master was guiding him to. He must puzzle it out himself. _A shield is a wall we place around ourselves, trapping in that energy._. . _But, is not that barrier itself still visible? In battle a shield is a defensive barrier – it is a cloak that is used to hide. How would one cloak their signature?_

“I feel as if the answer you are drawing me towards is to weave a blanket around the light, a shield woven of our surroundings to camouflage the signature. But, I honestly do not see how that would help. Would not that weaving be _more_ obvious than a shield, rather than _less_?”

“Ah, but why weave _around_ the light? Can we not weave right through it?”

“But Master, would that not _destroy_ the light?”

“All things belong to the Force, Obi-Wan. Tell me, what do we destroy, by weaving the Force into the Force?”

“You destroy the shape of it, the--” Ben finally gestures emphatically with an arm, breaking his meditative pose, “the feel, the very form of the being!”

“And yet this is the task I would set you.”

Ben turns his head, aghast, his freshly opened eyes looking at the Force ghost before him in disbelief, “Master you can’t be serious. I will not touch Luke.”

“The best protection you can offer that boy is to hide him from the Sith. But no, my task is for you to weave _yourself_ into the Force.”

Ben’s disbelief remained. “When Yoda told me I would be learning to be one with the Force, I did not think he meant it so literally. But I can assure you that I am not so weary of this world that I am ready to leave it.”

Qui-Gon sighed. “You will never believe me when I tell you it is not so bad as you would believe. But no, my Padawan, I am not asking you to depart this world. I am asking you to turn your senses inward.” The deep ethereal voice of his master was an energizing command, “To form an understanding of your own presence so deep, that you can begin to see where parts of it may be substituted by the fabric of the Force around you. To see the ways in which you and the Force already _are_ one and the same.”

Ben takes several deep, grounding breaths.

Qui-Gon folded his arms across his chest, long hair flowing down his back in smug certainty. “When I began this exercise, I found it easiest to focus on one small part of my person. My fingernails are so often covered in dirt, it was not so hard to see how energy from one might flow into the other. You perhaps could start with your hair, looking at the amount of sand I see in it . . .”

In the end Qui-Gon was right – it was easier when he started with his hair.

~*~

It took him a year to master it. To weave the Living Force that surrounded him in to his own Force signature, and vice versa. To do it instantly, naturally, without fear. To do it while practicing his saber forms, weaving his kyber’s energy in with his own. To do it to other objects around him. It gives him ideas for a new saber form; ideas for healing; ideas for…well, a new way of viewing the galaxy. _Arrogant, too, some Jedi Masters may be._ _Yes, Master Yoda; arrogant indeed we were_. There was so much yet still to learn in the universe.

But ideas were only ever that without time to pursue them, and Qui-Gon did not give him that time. 

At long last Ben’s confidence allowed him to apply his knowledge even Luke. Luke, who now, woven into the Force of his step-parents, their plants, and their farm, appeared as if he was just as any other, non-Force-sensitive child, even as their house plants twinkled, perhaps, with more effervescence than was typical.

On that day, when Luke was now fully sheltered in the Force, Qui-Gon returned to him. 


	3. Chapter 2: Change of Scenery

“‘Gain a new perspective’ he says,” Ben grumbled to himself, “As if leaving Tatooine were a trivial exercise.”

He had walked from his little canyon home to Tosche Station, then taken a speeder from there to Anchorhead, only to wait two hours for the daily shuttle to Mos Eisley. Then began the arduous task of finding a ride off this rock. A ride that wouldn’t require much of his scant credits, would not maroon or rob him, and would not, of course, turn him into the Empire.

_A trivial exercise, indeed, for a man of your wit and verbal talents, my Padawn._

“I’m afraid my renowned flirtation might be a bit less successful coming from a 45 year old desert rat than it was from a 30 year old Coruscanti Knight, Master.”

 _If that is the extent of your Negotiation skills, I find myself disappointed_.

He was not blessed with a surfeit of clothing in this mission, either, and it was a penalty to his already weak sabaac hand. Or perhaps more truthfully, he could not bring himself to fully shed his old Jedi robes--

“How else am I to hide my saber? Or my thinning hair?”

_I can name a few places, Padawan. I trust in your creativity._

“Your side of crazy will cost you extra.” The green rodian before him was uncompromising. Perhaps he would have done better had he _not_ held a conversation with a ghost in the midst of negotiations, but…it was too late now.

“I can work for transit. No need to bring credits into the matter.”

“I don’t employ drunks.” The eyes before him were dark and without pupils, but one green antennae pointed distinctly downward towards his glass. It was not the finest beverage, to be sure, just a simple bitterfruit liquor, but—

“It is just fruit juice.” He sent a gentle suggestion in the force. _I’m a simple man. I wouldn’t waste credits on hooch. The juice is refreshing_.

The lids of the rodian eyes lifted and fell in consideration.

“I’m an able pilot. I can load and unload. I’m just looking to reach Christophsis.”

“Just you? No cargo?”

“No”, He shook his head, then took a sip of his … juice. “Just me.”

“What is your business on Christophsis?”

“I am hoping to procure some of their crystals for a project.”

The rodian’s eyes narrowed more fully. “You got ident?”

“Of course.” _You can trust me. I’m respectable_.

The rodian’s snout twitched. It might have been a smile, but he couldn’t be sure.

“I’m down two men. Some sort of gambling debt with the Hutts. Be at the docks in two hours, and if you can do their loading— _all of it_ —you have a seat.”

Ben raised a brow. Do the loading of two men? He could think of worse deals made in this bar. Thank the force he had, well, the Force.

“We have a deal.”

~*~

 _Of course_ they would be stopping at Arkanis. _Of course_. Tatooine afterall lay along the Triellus Trade Route, which only intersected the Corellian Run, his path to Christophsis, at… Arkanis. He had known it from the outset, and so was utterly without patience for the theatrics of his rodian companion.

“CHISK! The engine’s going out!”

Ben raised a disbelieving brow, but it went unseen, strapped securely as he was into a crew seat behind and perpendicular to the pilot’s chair. The rodian was pulling on the steering column, as if he was flooding the engine, but Ben could see from the fuel gauge that he was doing nothing of the sort.

“We must be low on drive oil. We’ll have to make a pit stop at Arkanis.”

“Ah, what an unexpected failure.” Ben said dryly, “I’m so glad we happen to be so close. Why, I think I can see the Port of Scaparus from here.”

There was no attempt to mask his sarcasm, but his pilot didn’t care. Had he even caught the humanoid’s name? Ah yes, Gojo.

The ship banked smoothly, remarkably smoothly for a craft with a beleaguered engine, one might say, taking them on an approach to…ha! He’d even guessed the destination correctly! Scaparus Port. Home to fish, fisherman, fish friers, and a military academy of some kind, at least back in the Republic days. The question of the hour was, why _Gojo_ was interested in this place.

His spry companion was out of his seat as soon as they landed, blaster strapped to his waist, and a round helmet slapped onto his face.

“Be back here in two hours.”

“I assume you’re after a mechanic?” Ben removed his own straps more slowly, but it was only a few steps to the main door. 

Gojo pressed the button to lower the hatchway, a mumbled “of course” coming from under his new metal egg head. Ben considered remaining with the ship on the off chance this was an attempt by Gojo to relieve himself of an unwanted passenger, but the force works in mysterious ways, and it was no longer his want to question it, so he dawned his brown robe and followed his pilot.

He did not know what Qui-Gon intended on Christophsis, but something told him he would be better served with a change of clothes.

 _Your stubborn attachment to those tattered linens is unbefitting a jedi, Obi-Wan_.

“And yet, I do not think the manufacturer is still in business, my Master. Waste not, want not, as you say.” He intended it as a joke, but something in it made him sad.

 _The robes do not make the man. And any ending can be a new beginning_.

Ben huffed.

Over an hour and three merchants later, he was clothed in an ill-fitting brown work coat, simple trousers, and just his undersilk shirt. He felt naked without his voluminous robe, now safely stowed in the duffle bag over his shoulder. Self-consciously he tugged down his new grey cap, until his eyes were fully shadowed. “My hair is perfectly thick, thank you Qui-Gon, I merely prefer to avoid the gaze of the security cameras.”

He sensed laughter in the force. _Kark_ that man.

He was early enough, and unrecognizable enough, to observe the intrigue his companion had cooked up in full. Several wooden crates were lined up for loading, and Gojo, helmet still on, was gesturing animatedly between the boxes and his hull in a way that made it clear he was unhappy. His audience was three humanoids, all of them similarly adorned with helmets, so that the only thing he could say for certain was that one of them…was a jedi. Or a force sensitive, at any rate. He had sensed the light of possibility when they’d landed of course, but the galaxy was full of such lights. It was only at this distance that he could feel the thrum of the living kyber crystal in their possession.

_Who do we have here?_

Gojo was throwing up his hands in exasperation, and one of his new acquaintances—ah, this one had a tail! Perhaps…togorian? Their height and clawed hands would suggest—well, regardless of their species, the acquaintance began pushing a crate up the gangway on a wheeled cart. He disappeared into the hanger for a lengthy period of time, and re-emerged bearing…the self-same crate. He made an irritated gesture as if to say ‘There’s no place to put it’ but Ben had seen this trick before. _The good old fast-switch. I hope we don’t find a person this time._

_I only hid you the once, Padawan. You have no cause to complain._

A simple extension of his senses proved his master right. These were not _live_ goods. And as they were not live, they were really none of his concern. Much as it heartened him to feel this light again—the bright light of a brother or sister when so many had perished—he could best help his jedi friend by not surprising them, given the lengths they were going to with their performance. So he pulled out a flimsy he’d purchased for the flight—the latest print of the Imperial News Corp, and an utter piece of poodoo—and pretended to read it.

The attempted loading took 20 minutes, with only one crate actually ‘fitting’ in the hold, the others carted away by the togorian. When it was finished, Gojo gestured to the hold, and the jedi and remaining companion followed him up the gangway. A gangway which immediately started lifting.

 _Kriff_. That was his signal, if there ever was one!

He jumped forward, lifting himself through the gap a moment before it closed, rolling down the other side in a heap, only the subtlest use of the force keeping the fall from actually hurting.

“Kind of you to wait.” He huffed as he lifted himself from the harsh metal grating. His knees and wrists protested the exertion and he begrudgingly acknowledged that aging was a terrible thing.

When he reached his full height, his head was level with the point of a blaster, but that was to be expected.

“It’s Ben, Gojo. You know, the crazy old man you promised to take to Christophsis?” He quirked a brow, summoning all his censorious disappointment into the look.

The rodian’s shoulders sagged and his large eyes avoided his own. _So he_ did _intend to leave me after all_.

Gojo’s protruding mouth finally parted, and he mumbled, “I thought you’d found another ride.”

 _You’re a terrible liar, Gojo,_ he did not say. He felt the eyes of others in the room, and decided it was best to play the role of naïve traveler “Just a change of clothes, I’m afraid. As I said, I’m happy to help with the unloading once we reach Christophsis. And…” he pushed his humor into the force that he might keep his face straight, “I can do some engine work if that mechanic never happened to show? Are we still low on oil?”

Gojo shook his head. “No. I found someone.” So saying he pointed behind him, where Ben made a show of widening his eyes at the ‘unexpected’ guests.

“Oh! Well met. My name is Ben. What’s yours?”

There seemed to be an exchange of glances and a chittering language he was unfamiliar with. An argument. The one on the right was gesturing between him and Gojo, sounding upset. 

_I’m just an old man. I’m not a bother. You’ll be rid of me soon._ He projected to Gojo.

Reliably, the rodian turned to his new passengers and grumbled, “He’s getting off at Christophsis. It’s just a quick jump.”

More chittering followed, but the point had been made, and the pilot’s authority won out. Helmets were removed to reveal the distinctive domed hairless head and noseless face of a bith, and a human male of maybe 26, with dark hair tied in a queue, a small goatee, and almond shaped mono-lidded eyes. At that age… _he would have been a padawan_.

Ben sighed internally. He hated, sometimes, his rigid adherence to rules and regulation. For once a rule was known, it could not be easily forgotten, and they could be quite…specific. For example, in the accounting of their august Order, a padawan _without_ their Master would be the responsibility of the Jedi Order as a whole. Until knighted, such individuals must, by regulation, be held accountable by a named supervisor, more colloquially referenced as a ‘mentor’. Should no Master volunteer, that role could be assigned to a crèche master, or a temple instructor, but, in the nature of all hierarchical chains, should everyone in that chain be unavailable, ultimate responsibility would fall to the Council. And as the junior most member of that Council, that undesirable role would, of course fall to him.

Shay could not possibly have been knighted before the Purge. That meant that in a perverse fashion which only Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi would recognized, this reckless lost jedi was _Ben’s_ responsibility. How dreadful for them both. He hoped the young man didn’t actually _need_ assistance—it was unlikely to end well on either side, and Ben dare not broach the subject until he learned more.

“Shay,” the young man introduced, followed closely by the bith, “Faun”, who’s gender he was struggling to determine.

“Will you be accompanying us to Christophsis?” Ben asked innocently.

“Yes,” they replied in unison.

“Ah, delightful.” They were at a stalemate, one Gojo smartly avoided by disappearing into the flight cabin, prepping them for take-off.

“I’ll just...” he gestured at the door Gojo had slipped through, “buckle in then.”

They followed on his heels. There were really only two rooms on the ship, the cargo hold and this flight cabin, and a cargo hold was a terrible place to stand when hitting atmo.

It appeared Shay had about as much subtlety as Gojo, for as soon as he had his harness clipped, he was staring at Ben as if he could read his soul, and asking, “What business do you have on Christophsis?” It was a shame Ben’s shielding prevented that skill from working, and a blessing Qui-Gon’s teachings so well masked his signature. Ben no doubt felt frustratingly hard to read for someone who’s force prescence looked so…average.

“I’m hoping to acquire some of their crystals.”

“Crystals?” Shay’s tone held about as much faith as Ben had in Gojo’s acting ability.

“Oh yes. They are capable of holding and transmitting an extreme range of resonant frequencies; far superior than synthetic alternatives. It’s really quite remarkable; they—” further pedagogy was interrupted by the loud burn and heavy thrust of engines as they lifted out of the dock. Conversation would have to pause until they accelerated through the atmosphere and into space. Ben felt his fingers curl about the nylon straps as the inertia hit his stomach, and his shoulders tensed of their own volition.

He hated flying.

Thank the force it only took a few minutes to exit the stratosphere. Then they rocketed around the planet, curving out of its orbital grip, and suddenly the engines switched off. There was always this moment—this moment of meditation, a pause in the thrum of the ship, when one turbine turned off and the main drive was not yet ignited. Gojo had choked the main engine and was prepping the hyperdrive that would take them into the Corellian Run, gifting them with silence. As if time held still and he could be any _when_.

The hyperdrive ignited.

And his conversation resumed.

Ben smiled disarmingly at his unknowing Jedi, “What are you and Faun picking up on Christophsis? Or are you not traveling together?”

Shay’s intense look had faded as he abandoned his attempt at reading the force, but his expression remained guarded “Gojo offered to help us with a delivery.”

Together then. One down, one to go…“You’ve known our pilot a while then?”

“Long enough.”

“In that case you have me at the advantage. What’s the cargo?”

Faun began chittering; the sounds ‘they’ emitted lay somewhere between a _pop_ and a _tisk_ and he could only assume they were of the Bith language. Shay was leaning in to hear, nodding and shaking his head at intervals. Faun was gesturing at Ben emphatically, sounds growing in volume. Shay shrugged.

They were clearly discussing him, but though he wished he could reveal himself to Shay and spare them their trouble, it was not a risk he was permitted to take lightly. He may have a duty to the lost padawan,, but his duty to Luke came first. Gojo had picked him up on Tatooine; Gojo was a terrible liar. And this inexperienced crew was on a smuggling run liable to get Gojo caught.

No. Whatever their plans were, they did not involve him. If he could catch Shay _alone_ , perhaps he could…

Could what? He had nothing to give, and no time to teach.

 _You can tell him he’s not alone_. Qui-Gon whispered to him.

_You can give him hope._

He knew very well what his master would do in his boots—Qui-Gon had never been a cautious man. But Qui-Gon had also died, long before his time.

Whatever argument was going on between his shipmates, it ended with what appeared to be an emphatic ‘no’ from Shay. Of course, he would have needed to understand the question for it to hold any meaning, but …

“How familiar are you with Christophsis?” Shay asked him, and it was an abrupt enough switch he was caught off guard.

Ben unbuckled his harness and raised a hand to his chin, regretting already his change in wardrobe and his lack of wide sleeves. “It’s been many years since I’ve been there, and only to the capitol city. I doubt I can give you any directions, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, No. It’s just…a lot’s changed in the past few years. The Empire wanted to punish the people there for purported rebellious behavior. So they burned the city of Tophen. It’s a bit depressing for a tourist.”

“Well that is dark news, thank you for your concern. I don’t plan to stay long, however.”

“Trying to avoid the Imperials?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Ben splayed both hands outwardly in emphasis.

“You have up to date papers?”

Provided no one asks to see them. “Of _course_ I have my papers. And I did not realize Gojo had invited an inquisitor on board.”

And so they proceeded for the next hour of hyperspace—Shay asking pointed questions, Ben dodging them with alacrity. It was clear at the outset what Shay’s purpose was; he was searching for Ben’s sympathies. And it was clear by the 10thquestion where Shay’s own lay. The boy— _young man—_ corrected himself, was not, as it happened, much better of an actor than Gojo, and showed all the hallmarks of an aspiring rebel. But their purpose—the reason for their little façade—that only became clear when they reemerged from hyperspace.

A planet, rotating with swirls of blue, green, and white, appeared on the viewport as the shooting lights of the hyperroute faded out. And in front of that planet…a large, white Imperial vessel. In the pause of the engines he could study the awkward looking ship. It held a large dome in its center, with two half circle arms curving around the back, bridged by connecting tubes. He’d almost mistake it for a space station if not for the large rectangular engine block at its rear.

Faun was chittering again, pops and clicks and snaps uttered at an un wholesome sped, and Shay was looking between Ben and Faun with a growing resolution on his brow. And then, even as Ben was turning to Gojo to question their descent, he saw in the corner of his eye Shay lift a hand, and then a wave of the Force battered his shields in tune with a command from Shay, “ _Sleep!”_

It did nothing of course. While an admirable attempt for a Padawan, it would not have made a dent in any trained users shields, let alone the durosteel walls of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It did however, rather tie his hands.

He turned his eyes, his very alert, not a bit sleepy eyes, on Shay and raised a brow. “Tell me whatever plot you are involved with does not involve docking with that ship—” he pointed through the glass, not breaking eye contact.

Faun was chittering fit to explode, and Shay gulped. They were both saved by Gojo, who, possessing more heroics than Ben would have guessed, had switched the ship to autopilot, and was leveling a blaster at Ben’s shoulder.

Perhaps using force persuasion to hitch a ride on this particular ship had been a mistake.

“I’m sorry, Ben. I can drop you off as soon as the handoff is complete. I’m just dropping them off first.” _Kark that_.

If they docked with any imperial ship, their registry would be on file, and with that registry the ability to trace their past ports of call. The time for pretense was at an end for all parties.

With a wave of his hand the blaster was knocked out of the rodian’s gloved hand, and the blade that had been inching up Faun’s side fell to the floor with a metallic _CLANG_.

“Please tell me your plan doesn’t rely on your collective acting skills?”

Three stupefied faces met his query. Gojo was squeezing his hand rhythmically as if he could still feel the blaster it had once held, and for once no sounds issued from Faun’s multi-flapped mouth.

“You _do_ have a plan, I hope?” he tried again.

“Your—” Shay finally exclaimed, squinting at Ben in consternation as he searched again for something he could not see.

“I have masked my force signature, as should you,” Ben lectured, “There are force sensitives on that ship.”

“How—”

With a sigh, he closed his eyes. There was no time for instruction, no time to ask permission. He took in the weave of Shay’s life energy and gently parted the seams, letting in chords of color from all around them, until the bright light of the padawan’s force signature appeared as nothing more than an especially bright sign of life.

He opened his eyes, meeting brown irises. He had been Old Ben too long, and what this young rebel—this _padawan_ —needed, was Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“It is done. Now, please, Shay, padawan, I _am_ sorry for my deception, but you must tell me, just what is going on here?”

“Who are you?” it was Faun who asked the question, in Basic finally.

“We don’t have time for this,” Ben glanced pointedly out the viewport.

Whatever Shay’s reservations, something in the force must have reassured him, for he palpably released his fears and explained, “We are blowing up that ship. The crates in the hold are loaded with explosives. We were able to…acquire some naval uniforms at the Arkanis Academy. And we have a forged delivery docket for medical supplies. The plan is to push those crates in, pretending to be guards accompanying the transport, then when Gojo is away, we’ll let it blow.”

“And what is your get-away plan? If you’re sending Gojo away?”

Shay and Faun exchanged glances. It was Faun who replied, “The lives of two is a small price to strike a blow against the Empire.”

“And we might be able to grab a new transport, if…” Shay’s voice fell off.

“A _suicide_ run?” Ben was appalled. _I would die for the Republic!_ So three million clone troopers and ten thousand Jedi had once believed. But it was a lie. _Is this one medical ship worth it?_ It was not. For Shay and Faun to want to die, so young…Qui-Gon was right. The Galaxy was sorely in need of _hope_.

Faun was arguing, trying to justify the cause, “Five years ago today, the Empire burned the city of Tophen as retribution for the destruction of a medical ship just like this one. It is not just a ship we die for, it is a _message_. A message to the empire that we will _not_ be cowed. That the people _remember_ what was done to them, and we do not _forgive_.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Ben allowed just a glimpse of his own grief to shine through. “And I admire your passion. But this is not the way.”

“The rebellion—” Shay began, but Ben cut him off.

“The rebellion would not want this. It was founded on the principles of the sanctity of life.” Or so it had been five years ago, when Ben had been plucked off Tatooine by a harried Bail Organa, desperate for guidance, and forced to spend four weeks in meetings and debates and tiresome planning, before the former Senator graciously allowed him to return to the desert ignominy he had earned.

“You know nothing about—” it was Faun now.

“—I know that this plan of yours is doomed to failure. And that you are worth far more to the cause alive than dead.”

Stubborn, mutinous eyes met his own.

“If this must be done,” he cultured his face into a furious expression that left no doubt as to his opinion on the matter, “If you truly mean to commit yourselves, then we will do it _my_ way. Let’s start at the beginning. What kind of explosives…”

Faun and Shay leaned in, hopeful eyes proving their youth; Gojo returned his hands to the console, disabling the autopilot.

Through two inches of transparasteel glass, a white sphere loomed ever larger before them.

~*~

Ben toggled the cannister, giving it one last shake before pulling the lever. They all heard a distinct _hiss_ , and Shay sighed in relief.

“I told you it would work.”

Shay glared at him.

“It’s a well known trick, Padawan.” He insisted, “The thorium nitride reacts with water to form nitrogen dioxide, which is dark enough for the ventilation systems to—”

Shay was waving him off, reaching for his rebreather; Ben found himself smiling and followed suit. Faun of course, always two steps ahead, was already wearing theirs. The two younger humanoids had their bodies pressed to the door of the service closet they currently occupied, waiting for signs of … well...discovery. But there was none. The force whispered a countdown instead… three…two…one…

_BWEE-EWH BWEE-EWH BWEE-EWH!_

A red spinning light in the corner of their closet began spinning, as a loud siren started wailing.

He pushed a wave of _patience_ and _confidence_ towards his two comrades, and he saw their tense shoulders relax minutely.

The comm unit on Shay’s wrist crackled, and the lad opened the line. Gojo’s low voice echoed against the four metal walls encasing them, “It’s working. Evac ships are getting prepped.”

“Keep us posted.” The line cut out.

They waited three more minutes, then exited the closet.

…Only to be nearly trampled by a patrol of white clad troopers. A trooper in the middle stepped out of the marching line and turned to them, his voice a familiar lightly accented bark, “Sirs, an evacuation has been ordered. You must make your way to the hanger.”

 _A Clone_. _They are still in service_.

Ben shivered and clenched his jaw, quickly removing his rebreather with the palm of his hand, as if he’d been coughing. He was grateful for the imperial costume that made him invisible to the probing eyes he knew would be beneath the white ominous helmet before him.

“What’s your designation, Trooper?” His own voice was an unforgiving command.

“CN-22-2341, Sir,” the clone saluted, and Ben studied his aspect. There was something…wrong with the man. With his signature. As if… as if he was only half alive. Grey tendrils bound tightly around frayed blues and whites, all tinged with a black despair. It was disquieting. He stored the imprint in his mind. Perhaps one day he would have the strength to revisit that dark day Qui-Gon had asked him to study, when—

 _The here and now_.

His voice echoed in the corridor. “Proceed to the hanger, Trooper, that’s an order.”

“Good soldiers follow orders!”

He shivered. There was a reason he had difficulty meditating on the subject.

The patrol exited the other end of the corridor and they were alone again. He fought down a pang of grief.

_BWEE-EWH BWEE-EWH BWEE-EWH!_

_The here and now, Padawan_.

Shay was giving him an inquiring glance. He brushed it aside. His pain was his own, and not even Qui-Gon could force him to revisit it.

_HERE!_

_NOW!_

…Or perhaps he could.

_Your senses, foolish Padawan! Use them!_

He felt it then. A soft scream in the force. So low he had mistaken it for his own anger, his own sorrow. But it was _not_. But if it was not _his_ , and was not _Shay’s_ then who…?

His mind found it in a heartbeat.

“I must go.” He said abruptly, and Shay looked at him in confusion and fear.

“What?”

“You must continue on to the bridge. You and Faun both.” He took them both in, reinserting his rebreather, though it made it harder to speak. “You can do this. This cruiser will be in full lock down. If you cut your way through the doors, you should encounter no one.”

Shay was shaking his head. “But the command deck will have—”

“A medical ship like this will have minimum security. The patrol that just passed us may well be the only one aboard. Trust the Force. And keep those grenades handy, Faun.”

“Where are you _going_? I thought you said we shouldn’t split up?”

“The force sensitives I sensed on this ship—they… there is something not right, and I must go to them. They may be a threat.” _Or they could be in danger_. His sense of them was muddled. Dark, but not necessarily _of_ the dark.

Shay straightened his back. “Ok. Ok. Once the bridge is secure we’ll await your call before jumping into hyperspace.”

“Good. You have the coordinates?” Shay tapped the side of his head and nodded. Ben had given him the numbers as they were docking, and he’d memorized them without question. He only hoped Bail would forgive him for their use.

Ben turned to follow the path of the clone trooper, the opposite way of the bridge.

“Sir—Master—"

He let his step pause at Shay’s call, raising an expectant brow.

“If you’re not joining us, we have no contact to vouch safe when we arrive. Who should we say sent us?” _Who are you?_

Ben summoned his saber from the sleave of his uniform coat. He did not ignite it, but let the hilt be seen; proof, if Shay needed it, that he was a fellow jedi.

“You may tell them you were sent by Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Shay’s eyes widened, “Of course, I’m supposed to be dead, so I’d greatly appreciate it if you didn’t allow the word to spread.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Shay’s voice seemed to have lost all its strength, and he was staring at Ben as if he were a ghost from another age. As indeed he was.

“Go on, young Shay,” he gestured with the same hand that held his saber, “we both have a mission to complete.” He softened the order with a smile, “and remember, you are not alone. You are _never_ alone. May the Force be with you.”

With a turn of his heel he put his back to Faun and Shay, and marched forward on his own path.

There was a door at the junction of their small hallway, and on its other side a long curving corridor. He sensed the stormtroopers far ahead around the bend, but the echo of their steps still reverberated against his feet. The muddled lights in the force were singing to him now, their tendrils pulling his feet without need for words. The force did not say _turn right_ when he reached the appropriate junction, his feet merely turned on their own. He estimated he must be along the arm of the cruiser, angling back towards the engines. He wished the corridors had windows, but they were unpainted durasteel.

The first door he hit, he was able to override with the force. The second door required his saber. He was grateful for his rebreather as smoke from the melting metal wafted into the corridor; and grateful for the evacuation, given the emptiness of the room he stepped into a moment later.

The room was peculiar in design. Long and rectangular, it held a small examination table near the door, and a large power console at the rear. Strangest of all was the tubes. Along each side was a series of large, cylindrical tanks, filled to their tops with something greenish blue. It did not look quite like bacta, but it was similar. And in roughly every other tank… a living being.

He was too old, too experienced with the cruelty of the word for its latest example to take him aback. But something—grief, anger, sorrow— _something_ bubbled under his skin.

He closed his eyes. Opened them. Closed them again. One of the tanks held an empty shell; a dead child. The others were alive, and connected the force. _But how?_

He strode forward to examine the workstation. Blinking lights, most white, a few red. He closed his eyes again, focusing on a child to his right. A young gungan, long flapping ears curled around arms, and a single vibrant cord of orange ran through their center. But the chord did not end at the child’s body. It was bleeding away…through a … ah, a tube on the child’s arm. And that tube… it ran up the tank, under the floor, and into a receptacle beside his workstation. And that receptacle was attached to a pump, which was attached to…

He pressed one of the blinking white buttons. There was the sound of a piston releasing, and the orange thread retreated back into the gungan. The force sighed in the relief.

One by one, Ben repeated the process. A green thread for the bothan to his left; a blue thread returned to the ithorian near the door, it’s hammerhead twitching with the return. Eight children in total. He sent soothing energy their way. _Heal. Rest. You are safe_.

His comm unit buzzed, but he ignored it.

He looked again at the console. He needed to free them; take them to the bridge where Shay and Faun could watch over them.

 _“It is time to go, Padawan._ ”

“No. They are alone. Defenseless.”

 _“You have done your part. The rebels can do the rest_.”

“But they are _younglings_ , Qui-Gon!”

“There are others you must watch over.”

“Luke.”

Qui-Gon did not answer.

“Is the life of one child ever worth more than the life on another?”

Again there was no answer.

“Master?”

When Qui-Gon was silent, it typically meant he was missing something. A lesson. His master was not one to _tell_ him something, when he knew that Obi-Wan would not believe him. No, Obi-Wan had always learned by _doing_ , for all that he did his best to respect any rules put before him.

He huffed, and answered his comm.

“Ben here.”

“Master Kenobi!” it was Shay, already bandying about the name Ben had urged him to keep close.

“You have the bridge?”

“Yes. It’s clear. There were—well, it’s clear now.”

“Good job. The force signatures I felt are not a danger to you, but it will be your responsibility when you reach the rebel forces.”

“What is it?” Shay’s voice was no longer uncertain. It held…confidence. _Good_.

“There are eight younglings in the portside arm of the ship, in storage tubes of some kind. I’ve cut off whatever force experiment was being done on them, but I do not think they should be removed until you have a medical team ready.”

“Younglings?” the voice was less confident now.

“Yes. And they will need your reassurance. Your sense of the force. Help them, Shay.”

“Can’t you—”

“I’m on my way to the hanger.” He cut off the invitation before it could be formed. “You should be able to jump in under ten minutes.”

“Yes, Master.”

There were no troopers, no crew stopping him when he made it to the hanger, and he made good time. The force must have blessed this mission. More than one transport remained, and he jumped into the nearest, opening a comm with Shay only after the craft had lifted off.

“You are free to jump, Shay.” The medical ship was equipped with a class 3 hyperdrive. It would be slow, but it would get them to where they needed to go. And because it seemed cruel to leave his fellow jedi, who had no doubt been as alone as Ben had been these past seven years—no, _more_ alone, for Ben had had Qui-Gon –he offered him parting words.

“Hope shines in all of us, and you are never alone. May the Force be with you.” He felt Qui-Gon’s _humm_ of satisfaction, and was glad for ghost’s return.

“May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi!”


	4. Chapter 3: Memory of Christophsis

The crystalline spires were more beautiful than he had remembered. He is surprised. It isn’t as if Imperial control had been kind to the planet. The signs of their presence are everywhere, from the large banners hanging over each capital building’s entryway, to the heavily guarded warehouses of the trading guild. Christophsis’s tithes to the emperor no doubt. Yet, the pale green glass of the towers around him glistened in the sun. His senses thrummed. He could feel the energy of the material as it gratefully absorbed the warm rays upon it. Had it felt like that before?

His military uniform was a blessing, given the shouts and alarms from the medical evacuation. He blended right in with the crowds of milling troops. The shipyards were on the North side of the city, filled with traders, transport companies, worker housing, and of course, the imperial bay. It carried a sense of busy-ness. 

Ben had decided to walk down the main thoroughfare to see where the force pulled him, and so far it was pulling him a good bit south and a little east, putting him closer to the government district at the heart of the city, but off of the main approach. It is familiar to Ben. More than familiar. He knew exactly where he was. The clarity was a truer testament to the power of Qui-gon’s teachings than he had expected.

Our GAR field base was right over _there._

The Mechanized Bay to the left.

The park he had just passed was once their landing pad.

The comm tower—once their temporary command center-- appeared to have been converted to a courier center. Mail droids flew in and out of the circular roof in a synchronized flow, and no doubt a packaging sort-and-ship assembly line was running in the former mechanized bay. 

The Force pushed him gently towards the mail tower. Two droids framed the door, and his senses told him that the only life forms in the structure were in the top ring of the monolith.

“Ident Pass,” the high pitched voice of the droid demanded.

“My Pass checks out”, Ben waved his hand across the eyes of the droid pushing his will into the force and towards the droid’s central processor.

“His Pass checks out”, the droid puppeted back, and Ben walked by them both and into the tower.

His senses guided him up an elevator, half way up the tower. The 7th floor. There is a circular hallway, with doors dotting the corridor, and lines of processing core banks along the walls. _Ahh, I see_. _My bunk. How sentimental of you, Qui-Gon_.

He opened a door 60 degrees left, on the interior of the circle. Inside the chamber was more processor units, but there was enough room on the floor for him to sit. He wasted no time; he sat. He was eager for the mystery to be revealed, to learn why his Master deemed this trip so important.

_I am here, Master. I am here._

“Then you are ready, Padawan-mine.”

Ben extended his senses, in his usual manner, letting the force take him over the planet’s surface, then up into space, then across the system. It was by this time a relaxing exercise, akin to stretching prior to what he knew would be a rigorous exercise.

“Your final lesson is the merging of two previous lessons. The weaving of yourself into the Force; and the ability to touch a past moment in time. The challenge is to envision a past moment so clearly that you can visualize the Force presence of that moment; then weave yourself into that moment’s presence.”

“Why would we do that Master?”

“To put yourself _in_ that moment. Would you not perceive far more in that state than from a mere memory? Insights into the emotions and energies of that time?”

“Hmmm.” Ben could well believe that, but he had sensed Qui-Gon hesitate in his explanation, which told him there was more to this than the Force ghost was saying. “I do not see why that requires us to be here – Tatooine has many memories I might revisit.”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon droles, “but Christophsis is unique in the Force. The crystals here bring together the Unifying Force with the Living Force; and for this exercise, you must blend both into yourself, and into a moment of time.”

“And I suppose you brought me to this room to visualize _a particular_ moment? I seem to recall a few _incredibly_ exciting cat-naps in my bunk that will be _thrilling_ to re-examine.”

“Obi-Wan—” Qui-Gon’s warned –

“I _abandoned_ them, Qui-Gon! An entire group of younglings, to come _here_ for something _important_ , and you have me chasing memories _useless_ in your vaunted _here and now_.”

“ _Obi-Wan_.” Qui-Gon soothed.

Ben tried to push his anger and frustration into the force. It was a struggle.

“Fine Master. The First Battle of Christophsis it is.”

_Thank you, Obi-Wan._

He waited a long span of breaths, letting the last of his anger fade, his frustration melting into sorrowful resignation. Then he closed his eyes again, pushing his mind back to that old battle. Images flashed before his eyes, and he let them drift across his consciousness, trusting Qui-Gon to intervene when he hit the right moment.

 _They had successfully broken the blockade; Anakin had used a new stealth ship to destroy the flagship of the Separatists Admiral Trench, and the stealth ship had brought down supplies to the refugee command center Bail had set up._ That would have been just 2 blocks south of his present location. It had taken several hours for Obi-Wan and Admiral Brook to reverse the positions of the Republic and Separatists Fleets, moving the Republic into a protective ring around the planet. Even with Trench out they were outnumbered, but Obi-wan now knew that the entire battle was merely a feint, a distraction. So that Dooku may conspire with the Hutts. And so their fleet was allowed to move. 

_They had fended off heavy anti-aircraft fire to make land, and then began Platoon unloading . . . base assembly . . . the set up of guard rotations and a defensive perimeter._ They had feared a night attack. Droid armies still had command of half of the capital district, and the entire thoroughfare leading to the ship yards. The one saving grace was that their landing had taken the enemy by surprise, so confident were they in the blockade. 

_One last meeting with the Major—Major List—yes, to go over logistics and supplies…then… ah yes, Bail had met me in the make-shift canteen…_

_My how 8 years and leading a Rebellion can age a man. I’m glad I don’t have a mirror._

At long last he’d shuffled into their new command center – at that time still a functioning comms tower – and hunted out an empty room to catch some shut eye. Obi-wan focused on that single moment. Felt the fatigue seep into him. The grain in his eyes from staring at screens for too long. He had been leaning on the Force to keep awake and push back the weariness. And it had worked; it was early in the war after all. But, young as he was, he had not yet learned the art of meditative sleep, or war preparedness. And so he had grabbed a blanket from the mess; had methodically pulled off the uncomfortable armor his new Commander had insisted he wear for the landing; and had sprawled down on his side for some proper _sleep_.

 _So undignified_.

“Being dignified is a luxury, my Padawan. One I’m afraid you may be without for quite some time.”

Ben did not allow his attention to shift, but a tension formed in his stomach. One that did not belong in a simple meditation. The tension, however, matched the stress he knew he had felt that day long ago, and so instead of releasing it into the force, he savored it. Let the anxiety permeate his senses, like the fatigue. 

He controlled his breathing until it was rising and in tandem with what he knew his sleeping pattern to be. Then, echoing the lessons he’d practiced so recently on Tatooine, he let his senses feel the shape of his longer hair. The shorter beard. The joints free of pain. The fresh scars on his leg and shoulder, compliments of Dooku on the massacre that was Geonosis. His force signature, always a bright blue in his mind’s eye, was perhaps a shade whiter back then; a shade more brittle, too; untempered by the long war; not yet aware of the depths of its endurance.

He focused on that full shape of himself as it had been, and then he began his weaving. As Qui-Gon had said, the Unifying Force was twined with the Living Force on this planet. It was a heady combination, and one he would not have appreciated before his years in the desert. His affinity had always been for the Unifying Force, until Qui-Gon showed him the way. And now that he could appreciate the Living Force himself, the blend of the two was breathtaking.

He could feel Qui-Gon helping him now, though Ben had not known it was possible. A third thread was being woven into his matrix, alongside the Unifying and Living Force, one he did not understand; he did not think he was _ready_ to understand. But it did not harm him. He was too familiar with this art of weaving--with holding in his mind the vision of his own self—for alterations to disturb him.

He did not know how long they had been meditating. Time held no place in this. But at length he felt that they had it. He _was_ that former Obi-Wan Kenobi. He _breathed_ with that Obi-Wan; _felt_ as that Obi-Wan; sensed fully the energy surrounding _that_ Obi-Wan on the beleaguered planet of Christophsis.

“You have learned all I have to teach, Obi-Wan. The rest is up to you. Time and Space are the same in the Force, and so, just as the future is in motion, so too, for _you_ , is the past. May the Force be with you, my Padawan.” It was a whisper, and Ben was forced to push the confusion it bred into the Force; had to make himself _believe_ it was the anxiety of the past.

The room seemed to take a long breath . . . and then the glittering thread Qui-Gon had woven through his matrix latched onto those around it and _pulled_. Ben felt his very being, his essence, pulled along with it. He wanted to fight it, yet . . . there was a certainty in him that if he let go of his focus on his sense of self, _past_ self that is, that he would lose himself to the Force. And he did not think that was Qui-Gon’s purpose.

So he did not fight the pull. And he focused. There was pain; the sense of his essence hanging on the end of a noose that was slowly closing just from the inertia; he pushed the pain into the Force. His weave was funneling through a quilt of Forces he had no hope of imagining, and all he could do was continue to breath in and out. To remember once again the feel of his shaggy hair, and groomed beard. The discomfort from laying too long on his side on a duracrete floor. On the pull of sleep on a young Generals weary body . . .

~*~  
  


“General Kenobi…”

“General Keno--…ease… port to ….”

“General Kenobi, ….report to ….”

“General Kenobi, please report to the command center.”

The persistent chime of a comm unit brough Ben back to awareness. 

“General Kenobi, please report to the command center.”

He ached. Everywhere. Centering upon his chest but radiating outward. And he was on his side. _How odd_. He pushed himself to a sitting position, limbs moving into a meditative lotus pose with practiced ease. _Well Qui-Gon, if your goal was to give me a hang over, you’ve succeeded._ Reflexively he pushed is discomfort into the Force, and sent his senses outward, across this mail tower, the city, and rapidly up into solar system, in his usual morning stretch.

Only to rapidly contract them. So much . . . light! There were other _jedi_ here! And . . his tower -- so many living beings all around him. In his little . . . no . . . it was no longer a mail tower.

He pulled his senses inward then. Seeking out changes there.

_This cannot be._

But he had studied this moment in its entirety; knew the signature he saw in his self; knew his surroundings.

All of his senses … were telling him he was in the very moment he had meditated on, who knew how many hours before.

“To put yourself _in_ that moment. Hummf. Thank you Qui-Gon, that’s ever so helpful.” He voiced the words aloud in irritation.

Is this a vivid dream them? It was miraculous if so.

“General Kenobi, please report to the command center.”

Well, if he _was_ re-watching his past, then in the _past_ he had answered that comm. The command center was the top floor of this building.

Ben – no, he was Obi-Wan now -- opened his eyes, and with practiced ease donned his armor. Depressing his comm switch he answered the hail, “Kenobi here. On my way.”

The walk to the elevator was short; and from the elevator to the command center even shorter. And suddenly he was there, stepping up beside Anakin, facing their two clone leaders, Commander Cody and Captain Rex.

“Attention on Deck!” Cody announced to the room, signaling the arrival of a more senior officer.

If this were real then perhaps Obi-Wan would have been startled by the old military protocol, so far removed from his life on Tatooine. If it were real, the faces before him, of Anakin, Cody, and Rex, may have brought long checked emotions to the fore; but, this was the past, and so Obi-Wan pushed any emotion into the Force.

 _Focus on the here and now,_ he fancied he could hear Qui-Gon whisper to him.

 _And what is my exercise today, Master?_ In the _here and now_ his task was to examine this moment, now fully alive in the Force, with emotions and details before him to study.

He could see now that Cody and Rex were blank faced and formal. They held themselves rigid; ready to follow orders, but less inclined to offer their own thoughts. They leaned _away_ from the strategy table rather than _towards_ it. It should come as no surprise; they had known Obi-Wan and Anakin a mere 6 weeks, their deference engrained but their trust not yet fully earned. And Ben could hardly blame them--Geonosis was only 8 weeks in the past, and the clones … they had had so many losses. 

No, it really should not be a surprise at all. Except…it was. 

Anakin, by contrast, had always been easy to read. “Enjoy your beauty rest, Master?” ah yes, there’s the spiteful banter masking underlaying stress.

Obi-Wan passed a hand through his hair dramatically, emphasizing his somewhat smashed coif. “Why Anakin, I feel 10 years younger, thank you for asking!” _Why did I wait until the 3 rd year of the war to get a hair-cut?_

 _“_ Well I’m sorry to disappoint you, Master, but you don’t look it.” They both grinned. If given deeper thought, perhaps it would not have been so reflexive, but in _this_ time, _this_ moment, for _this_ Obi-Wan, smiling at Anakin came easily. In contrast to his own hair, Anakin’s still looked a tad short. Not yet the glorious mane pictured in vaunted adverts of the Hero with No Fear.

“General,” Cody said with no inflection, “The Seppies took the evening to consolidate their position in the Northern shipyards. Our fly-bys show a massing of droids along the main thoroughfare. We think they are preparing for a frontal assault.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan met Cody’s eyes directly. “What do you have in mind, Commander?”

“An ambush, Sir,” he shifted the holo-table to show the buildings in the capital approach – the junction where the main thoroughfare met the inner ring of the city, which held the city’s government buildings. It was only a few blocks west of their base. “We position repulsor cannons inside the buildings here and here,” he pointed to two buildings that faced the approach, “that should stop the droid’s frontal movement, while we bring in the ATTE’s around their side,” he drew a line from their impromptu tank bay down towards the thoroughfare.

“Timeline?” Obi-Wan prompted, hand on chin.

Rex and Cody shared a look, and Anakin, appeared every bit as faux chagrinned as Obi-Wan remembered, shuffled his hands behind his back and turned to face Obi-Wan. _You really did know how to play me, my Padawan_. He sensed no anxiety from Anakin in the force. He was supremely confident that Obi-Wan would not punish him for his transgressions, whatever they may be. “Well Master, how about now?”

“You’ve already moved the cannons, I take it.” Obi-Wan couldn’t help the tinge of sadness that crept into his tone. In the end, in the very end, Anakin would always do what _Anakin_ thought best. _Even if it meant the destruction of the entire Republic._

Anakin’s brows furrowed, picking up the unexpected emotion. Ben pushed it into the Force, looking back at Cody. “Commander Cody, when do maneuvers begin?”

“0700 Sir.”

Obi-Wan glanced at the clock on the table. Beauty sleep jokes aside, it was only 0500 now. Still time. Barely. _Time for what? This is only a memory; a meditation for him to study._

“Cody, how many men do you plan to deploy to the cannons?”

Cody looked uncomfortable, perhaps also detecting the tone shift, “Two Platoons, Sir, 30 men each. They’d be mixed squads – artillerymen, snipers, and a few ground troops.”

Ben drew his fist up to his face to stroke his beard. The tactile motion was still a comfort, like the rough fabric of his old tunics, despite his years of careful study releasing emotions into the Force. From those two platoons, they had lost half of their men in the battle that was to come. The reverse ambush in which they’d been betrayed to their enemy. And while Anakin’s commando units had saved them _that_ day, they had lost nearly all the ATTEs from Slick’s treachery, and gone on to lose far far more men in the subsequent battles to take the city.

Must he watch that history unfold once more? Once more after all the times Qui-Gon had already made him review these days? And this time he would _feel_ the loss. His past meditations had never been _that_ cruel.

_Time and Space are the same in the Force, and so, just as the future is in motion, so too is the past._

“Sir?”

“Master?”

 _Did I say that out loud?_ Apparently he had. Obi-Wan let a smile come to his face, decision made. If this was a dream, a mental exercise, then it was his to control. And as he was not fond of _bad_ dreams, he must make certain this would be a _good_ one.

“You have my approval, though you apparently did not need it.” The three stiffened at the inherit chastisement, “But I have some details to discuss. Walk with me, if you will?”

Anakin looked at him in surprise, Rex and Cody resignation, but, complicit as they all were in usurping his authority, they were in no position to argue.

Cody walked around the strategy board to stand by Ben’s side, while Rex moved to Anakin’s side. Ben stepped away from the table with an uncomfortable grunt, controlling the urge to rub his chest. The achy, tight sensation still lingered. He pushed it into the force as he led his entourage to the elevator.

“Uh, where to, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, eyebrow raised.

Ben – _no, I am Obi-Wan now_ – paid Anakin no mind, and turned to Cody. “Commander Cody, do you know where we might find Major List?”

“Sir, yes Sir. I sent him to his rucksack 2 hours ago. He’s on Floor 3, our new officers floor.”

“Ah,” he stopped by the elevator, “In that case, may I see your pad?” Cody did so, and Obi-Wan punched the button for the ground floor in the lift.

No amount of ‘ruminations on the past’ could give him the supply inventory of their forces. This was genuinely new data, and he was pleased with what he found. By the time they exited the command tower, he knew his destination.

“Cody,” there was a palpable hesitation in his Force sense of the clone commander, “I need you to assemble Ghost company, and have them meet us in the armaments depot.”

Cody gave him an indecipherable look, but dutifully raised his arm, to access the comm channel,

Ben had already turned, “Captain Rex, I’d like you to do the same with Torrent company.”

Rex turned to Skywalker, as if seeking confirmation, only to recall just who was the senior General. “Sir, yes Sir”. He raised his bucket, just as Cody had.

The armaments depot was a 10 minute walk from the command building, and it was spent in uncomfortable silence, broken only by a few awkward attempts by Anakin to needle Obi-Wan for what was going through his head.

“Really master, I didn’t think you’d be upset – it’s a solid plan,” Anakin’s force signature, brimming with confidence in the command center, was slowly wilting into something a tad more insecure. _Good_.

They were, of course, the first to reach the armaments depot; Torrent and Ghost companies had most likely been in the canteen or in their racks. A squad was on duty, however, and they saluted upon spotting their approach.

“Sergeant Slick, at ease,” Cody commanded from Obi-Wan’s side.

“Commander,” Slick held his salute.

“You’re sweating, Sergeant,” Obi-Wan observed. And it was true, he looked like he’d recently sprinted. “Shift change?” he queried innocently.

“Sir, yes Sir. Just relieved Sergeant Bull, Sir.”

“At 0510? I wasn’t aware we were doing twilight changes, Commander Cody.” Obi-Wan raised a brow at his officer. Cody was gritting his teeth. Obi-Wan knew that no such change should be taking place. He also had the benefit of knowing precisely _why_ …but it was important that Cody mark this himself.

Slick was quick with a defense, “Sir, Sorry Sirs, but one of Bull’s men requested a med check, and trip to the can, and one of _my_ men wanted more watch duty experience. We thought it made sense, Sirs. Sorry Sirs.”

“Sergeant, I’m going to be following up with Bull,” Cody’s voice was hard and unyielding. “There’s a reason we don’t do shifts at sunrise – it’s the most dangerous light for an attack. You put this whole camp at risk.” A hard glare was sent head to toe over Slick, examining him and finding him wanting. “Now get back to your post.”

Slick stood straight and saluted, “Sir, Yes Sir.”

Obi-Wan smiled. _Good man, that Cody_.

The armaments depot was one of the few rigid structures in their impromptu camp. Before the war broke out, it was a bank, and so had the benefit of a large, double lined, durasteel chamber. Now home to the bulk of their live munitions. Obi-Wan applied a little extra Force to open the door smoothly and made his way to that inner chamber. In the paler light he finally gave in to the desire to rub his chest, but the pulling sensation remained. _Into the Force_.

Looking about for a distraction he was not surprised to find a comm unit seemingly carelessly deposited near the center of the chamber.

He picked it up and handed it to Cody, “I believe one of the men might be missing this, Commander.”

Cody bit back a curse. He took the unit and marched back outside. “Slick!!!” They heard him shout before the door clanged shut.

Anakin could take the tension no longer “Obi-Wan, what exactly are we doing here?”

It was possible Ben was enjoying this rare moment of superiority. Yes, it was definitely possible. 

“Patience, Padawan.” Anakin rolled his eyes. _Interesting how a 47 year old man, bears with equanimity the title of Padawan to his Master, yet it is too much for this 19 year old youngling._

Perhaps three minutes more passed before the clang of the door was heard again, accompanied by the shuffle of several pairs of feet. Cody had returned, bringing with him most of Ghost and Torrent companies. Ben closed his eyes, stretching his senses across the crowd forming before him, allowing the Force to guide him to anything out of place. He was not fully confident the force would detect something as mundane as an open comm unit, but, well, this was _his_ dream, so perhaps the Force would do what he bloody well asked of it. He sensed nothing. In the room that is; outside he sensed the red, pulsing anxiety of the Sergeant Slick, who was pacing and restless. _Good_.

Anakin gently nudged his elbow. 

Then coughed. Then stomped his foot.

“Ahem. Obi-Wan?” Obi-Wan held up 2 fingers, eyes still closed. If he was not mistaken, that was Waxer’s force signature approaching. With several other life forms. _The stragglers_.

Men shifted restlessly. He felt Cody take a step to his side, clearly ready to intrude, but he was saved by the clang of the door.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes then, and surveyed the room. His gaze, and therefore most every eye in the room, followed Waxer, the final man to enter the inner double lined chamber. With a wave of his hand and the Force, the thick reinforced door was closed.

“Ghost, Torrent, thank you for coming. Nothing I’m about to tell you can leave this room. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes Sir,” chorused around the room.

“I have reason to believe that the enemy is aware of our plans.” Cody and Rex stood straighter, and Anakin took a step back in surprise. “I do not know whether it’s a communications breach, a spy, or perhaps new technology. But I am quite certain that this morning’s plans, if unaltered, will not end well.” Obi-Wan met the eyes of Cody, Rex, and Anakin, the designers of that Plan, each in turn.

“But Obi-Wan –”

 _My Padawan never could take criticism_ , but Ben would not be interrupted “--I do not want that to happen. The plan will stand, but I have a few surprises in mind.” He turned his eyes now to the men ringing the room.

“I need 1 demolition team, 2 teams to lay glass charges, a handful of snipers, and several men comfortable with grappling guns. We’ll start with demolition – who can run point?” The question hung for a pregnant moment, the men not at all accustomed to being directly involved in planning a mission with their General.

A clone wearing the blue of the 501st stepped forward; he had a clean shaved head and triangular tattoo on his brow. “Ringo, Sir, Torrent Company,” He stood at ease, bucket under his arm, “I can lead a demo team. What do you have in mind, Sir?”

“Thank you trooper,” Obi-Wan nodded to him in respectful acknowledgement, “You will be lining the main thoroughfare, starting 2 clicks north of the strike zone, continuing all the way _to_ the strike zone. On the north end you will be laying remote detonated mines – I want the road blown to the point that their forces can’t retreat,” his voice rang with authority, and not a little satisfaction, “On the south end, by the strike zone, you’ll be laying EMPs and ion charges.” Obi-wan held up Cody’s pad, now displaying a diagram of the approach, and gestured Ringo forward. “We want to trap their tanks at the back. We do that by cutting their retreat, then freezing the heavy battle droids with EMPs _here_ ,” he gestured at the mid point of the thoroughfare, “That leaves room for our ATTEs to roll over the standard Battle droids at the junction near the strike zone _here_.” He gestured close to their own location. 

He allowed Ringo to survey the map for himself. His brows were set into a worry line, but a smile was tugging on his lips.

“Do you understand your objective, Ringo?”

“Sir, yes Sir! I’ll need 3, maybe 4 others to lay the lot in time for the 0700 target.” He handed the Pad back to his General, but didn’t return to his former position.

“Stay for the remainder of the briefing; than you can high tail it. You may be doing double duty.”

Ringo nodded ascent and returned to his brothers.

“Next I need 4 snipers. You can volunteer amongst yourselves later. I need two on each side of the thoroughfare, as high as you can get without being seen in a fly by. I want you equipped with anti-air missile guns, in case the Seppies come in with low flying air units. At least 2 missiles in each location. After that you can bring however many tank busters and normal rounds as you can carry.”

More of the men were smiling now. This was their bread and butter.

“Now we get to the tricky part. Our main companies will be manning the cannons in the twin buildings facing the thoroughfare. But the cannons have a poor angle for striking near the tower base, and they don’t turn swiftly.” Much grumbling affirmed this statement. It was a well known weakness. “That means that if the droids come in too fast, or if they split their lines and come at our buildings from the sides, they can infiltrate the lower floors and trap our men. And our ATTE’s will not be fast enough to save them.”

“I think I see where you’re going with those grappling hooks, Master,” Anakin was nodding his head, his boyish excitement beginning to outweigh his annoyance.

Ben grinned at him, “I thought you might enjoy that part,” he turned now to Cody and Rex. “We want to build an escape route. If some men can remove the glass from the windows in the vacant buildings to either side of our towers, so there is a landing pad, then the grapplings can be held in reserve, and only used should they become necessary. These buildings will eventually get over-run as well, but it will buy you time.”

“I like it, Sir,” Cody said. “It also puts our escape route closer to the ATTEs, and the base, if we exit to the right.”

“If I can make a suggestion, General,” Rex asked.

“Of course.”

“Can we booby trap the tower base?”

“By all means. I’d also suggest disabling the elevators and putting detonators on the stairs.”

Rex smiled, “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you, Sir.”

Ben just grinned.

“That’s the full tactical situation. But I have one last request.” There was a weight to his words, and shoulders around the room straightened. “We want the enemy to think they have us caught. For that to happen, it’s critical that the actions I’ve laid before you remain a secret to the enemy. Yet we know we have an information leak. So I want you to leave here and talk very loudly, near comms, and in public, about how you’re pissed to be put on baby sitting duty, watching the cannons. And then I want you to do your jobs without a soul outside this room knowing. You are _all_ Ghosts today, understood?”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

“When you come back here to pick up your detonators and sniper rounds, you’re to carry it out in large boxes and say it’s cannon rounds. Is _that_ understood?”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

“Thank you for allowing me to place this trust in you. I have every faith you will see it through.” Obi-Wan bowed his head in respect, “You’re welcome to start collecting your armaments now, while I discuss a few more points with your C.O.s.”

Cody and Rex moved so they were facing him, forming an enclosed circle, while the troopers went about the room pulling shells and other munitions.

“Where will you and I be, Obi-Wan?” Anakin’s arms were now folded across his chest; an unconscious move that made seem less approachable, but was actually his contemplative stance.

“That is the final point we need to discuss. Cody, Rex,” he ignored Anakin, “I’m leaving the defense of our base, the refugee center, and this tactical plan in your hands. I’ve laid out what I believe to be our strongest ambush position, given our short timeline, but it is at your discretion when to spring the trap, when to bring in the ATTEs, and how to respond as the situation evolves. My only firm command is to hold or evac the refugee center at all costs.”

“Where will you be, Sirs?” Cody’s voice was firm. Despite being framed as a question, it held the authority of an order. _Tell me or else._

“Yes, Master, where will we be?” Anakin’s dry censure could cut a durasteel hull.

Obi-Wan huffed. “My beauty sleep this morning was actually quite productive. You too would likely have sensed it, Anakin, if you could hold yourself still long enough to meditate properly.”

Anakin didn’t rise to the bait, “Sense what?”

Ben sobered, “a dark force user; in the north side of the city.”

“Dooku?”

“No. Ventress.” If this were not a carefully controlled Force dream, that name perhaps would have held more emotion. But this was a dream, and so the name was just a word.

“Ventress?” Anakin’s voice was full of surprise, “that’s—uh, the uhm…… _Master_ , who is _Ventres_ s?”

Obi-Wan grimaced at his mistake. _Of course_. _Early days, early days_.

“Ventress is Dooku’s new apprentice. She was mentioned in one of the Council briefs,” Obi-Wan’s eyes were a careful study in condescension at Anakin’s ignorance, “from our spies on Serenno.” He raised an eye brow for extra effect. The truth, afterall, was on his side; There _had_ been a council brief. He wasn’t entirely sure Anakin had _access_ to that brief, but…

“ _Apprentice_?” Anakin’s voice rose, and Cody and Rex look equally perturbed. Some of the men grabbing ammo turn their way, then pretended to have not heard the younger General.

“ _Yes_. His _Apprentice_. We can expect that she’s been trained in Makashi, like her Master; and she wields two sabers.”

Anakin grunted in distaste. “I don’t like this, Master. How do you even know it’s her?”

“Well it is certainly not _Dooku_ ,” Ben drawled, “The force signature is not the same. And I’m not aware of any _other_ candidates.” _There’s also the helpful happenstance that this is my own omniscient dream._

Anakin looked both annoyed and contemplative. “So… you and I … are going after Ventress?”

“That’s the plan, Anakin,” Obi-Wan smiled teasingly, “Are you up for it?”

“Of course, Master.”

“Excellent,” with that agreement, Ben turned his attention back to his officers. “Cody, we’ll be taking 2 scooters, and infiltrating the compound north east of the shipyard. I’ll be carrying a number of explosives with us, in case we can do some damage on our way out, but I wouldn’t rely on us to make an appearance in the battle. We will time our infiltration with the droid assault, so won’t be back before 1000 I expect.”

“Sir, we have other commando units that could accompany you and General Skywalker. Is it necessary for you to go alone?” Cody’s eyebrow was raised. They’d only had two missions before reaching Chistophsis, and it was clear that, lightsaber duels aside, he did not (yet) see the value of putting high ranking commanders in the field.

“I’m afraid it is. Your men would only slow us down, I’m sorry to say.”

Cody’s face tightened in clear disagreement. “Very well Sir. Do you expect you’ll be needing an evac?”

“Unlikely, but if it comes to that, it won’t be before 1000.”

“We’ll hold the line here until you return. Is there anything else, Sir?”

Obi-Wan felt his eye twitch. He had the distinct impression he’d somehow stepped his foot in it, but he was not quite sure _how_. “That will be all, Commander, thank you.”

Cody nodded, as did Rex, and then they turned away to check in with their men.

“Maybe let them down a bit gentler next time, Obi-Wan,” Anakin had the gall to lecture him in a whisper, “The ARC Troopers have been dying for a dark op.” Ben blinked away his frustration.

“Anakin, we’re leaving at 0600. That gives you 30 minutes to discretely find us two scooters while I find us some appropriately high powered explosives. I’ll thank you to save your _advice_ for later.” The dismissal was clear, and Anakin did not linger. _This is a lesson._ Obi-Wan reminds himself. _A lesson on …_ well, he wasn’t quite sure. _A lesson on how a memory, which can be examined with detachment, is not, apparently, the same as the full experience of the memory itself._

 _There is no emotion, there is peace._ In a memory perhaps.

In this . . . reliving . . or whatever it was . . . _Emotion, yet peace._ Yes, that rang more true.


	5. Chapter 4: A Battle Redone

Anakin had both speeders humming on standby when Obi-Wan approached. His former padawan had hidden their vehicles within the mech tent, sandwiched between two AT-TE walkers; he’d only known where to go from the prods the nineteen-going-on-thirty year old kept sending him through the weak Padawan-Master bond they still shared. As he approached, he saw Anakin tilt his head, raising a brow at his outrig.

It was just possible he’d gotten carried away in the armory.

Anakin pointed at the straps across his back, “Are those…”

“Remote detonating corrosion bombs and ion hand grenades?”

“And that big black disc?”

“Oh, well now that would be telling.”

There was something like disbelief in Anakin expression. “Uh, yeah. So, I take it we aren’t going for stealth on this one?”

It felt remarkably… _fun_ to be the reckless one on a mission for once. Was that why Anakin chose the role so often? _Obi-Wan Kenobi, master demolitionist_ that’s me! “You could say that I have _a bad feeling_ for what we might encounter, Anakin. And you know what they say -- the person who is well prepared, has already won half the battle.”

“You know, Master, they also say that the day you are leaving is not the time to start your preparations.”

Ben laughed aloud, and Anakin grinned at getting a rise out of him, “and here I thought you cheated your way through the Temple’s philosophy course.”

“To be honest, Obi-Wan, I think all the philosophy lectures you gave me on cheating at the time are the only reason I passed.”

“My dear Anakin, you mean to say you actually _listened?”_

Anakin laughed at him.

It was so natural, this banter. When exactly had it turned sour? Ben knew that it had, but could never pinpoint the exact catalyst. Perhaps it was no single moment, but a slow progression. Like wrinkles that accumulate year after year until one day you look up in the mirror and find you don’t recognize yourself.

They both mounted their scooters. “Last one there has to feed a Gundark!” The challenge was shouted, and Ben turned the ignition, not about to be outflown by a cheek tween.

It would have been no use anyway—Anakin’s flying skills were legendary since the day he and Qui-Gon had found him on that dust bowl called Tatooine—but the Knight’s challenge was but a joke; he was letting Obi-Wan lead, relying on him to set the destination and approach. Ben of course would not be telling him that, years of meticulous study to the contrary, did not have a particularly detailed plan. For now, he merely focused on the pale red flame that was Ventress in the tapestry of the Force, and set his speeder bike accordingly.

It was a straight shot along the thoroughfare for a good fifteen minutes; and when the roadway ceased agreeing with his sense of direction he jerked just in time to take a side road, only to find it was an underpass, cutting in the exact opposite direction as he’d intended. He upped the throttle to pop the front wheel up and jump the railing, falling gracefully to the level below with some cushioning from the force.

The undercarriage of the expressway led them quickly to the side of a compound in the warehouse district of the northern shipyard. Ben parked his bike neatly beside a conveniently located hatch, crumpling the camera above it with an easy wave. Anakin quickly followed suit.

Anakin quirked a questioning brow, seeming to expect a pep talk, but Ben merely quirked his own and gestured forward.

Their entrance was anti-climactic.

They heard no alarm, and the droids on the other side were easily made to look the other way. All too quickly they were crawling in an air duct, Ben scrambling before Anakin, who he could sense through their bond was almost as tired of the tread of his master’s boots in his face, as he was of having no idea where they were going.

 _Use your senses_ he sent the youngling.

 _E chu ta_.

He wished he’d had the temerity to say _that_ to Qui-Gon. But an impatient Anakin was a dangerous thing.

“Anakin,” he whispered tersely, his head craned back to meet the Knight’s eyes. Anakin lifted his own head to catch the gaze, “Anakin we are looking for the command center. I want to see if we can capture the blueprints for the droids we’ve seen on this planet.”

“I’d rather we blow them all up.”

“We’ll do that too. Patience. I believe these droids have a different manufacturer than those on Geonosis; they may have different weaknesses.”

Anakin did not _quite_ roll his eyes, but the instinct was clear. _Is this really the time for academics, Master?_

There was _always_ time for academics, of course, for a proper jedi was always learning. But Anakin was not a particularly proper jedi, so there was really no point in pressing it. They continued crawling, passing through at least three junctions before Obi-Wan heard it.

_Whoosh whoosh whoosh._

A faint hum, to the right. He scrabbled forward. It was the whir of large fans, and . . . yes, the hum of computer banks. _Bingo_.

They found themselves looking down on what could only be the command center; a tall central computing column, with stations wrapping the entire circumference. At the end of the room was positioned a large holo display, and before it stood a stout, blue Kerkoiden. He had an extremely long lower jaw, balancing his enormous nose, and on that lower jaw protruded two large tusks, which tilted from side to side as he considered the holo display.

Anakin twisted his head sharply to draw Obi-Wan’s attention. It was unnecessary. Ben recognized the Separatist General on his own cognizance. Whorm Loathsom. A master tactician and, Ben would grudgingly admit, an honorable adversary. Ben glanced at the chronometer on his wrist--0750. The battle should be well underway by now. He squinted at the holo table just under the fearsome blue snout of the General. Ah, yes, the first droids were just reaching the junction before the kill zone, the tanks still some way back. _Good_.

He turned to Anakin. He’d brought the Knight for a reason, afterall, and it wasn’t just for man power. His former Padawan must have a hero crush on the Separatist, however, as his eyes were still locked on Loathsom.

_Anakin! Focus!_

Anakin’s head shot up, and he seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to realize that Ben was extending an arm to him, a small storage device in his hand. Finally he pulled the square object towards him with the force, confirming, Ben supposed, that it was indeed a connection port. But once confirmed, he understood immediately the plan. Carefully, oh so carefully, he used the Force to maneuver the little square through the air vent and towards one of the unoccupied terminal stations on the opposite side of the central column from the General. Then began the hard part. Eyes glued to the small portion of the terminal he could see, Anakin used the force to depress key strokes. 

Ben’s angle was poor, and he could only just make out the icons on the terminal screen. Anakin’s mumbles were thankfully more revealing.

“Traditional folder structure . . . Damnit, how big is this storage device? Probably not big enough to copy the entire main frame, so I’d better . . . ah, there’s the search function . . .”

Ben sighed. He hoped the room was not equipped with sound sensors.

“Droid production . . yes please. Droid contracts, yeah that sounds good too. Contracts for . . . LR-57 . . . to be fulfilled by the Retail Caucus . . . Ugh, Obi-Wan’s right, there’s a new supplier. Ok, is there a folder for blueprints?”

A fist smashed on the holo table, and Loathsome let out of roar of anger. Ben spared a glance at the holo table to confirm – yep, the bombs on the thoroughfare had just gone off. He couldn’t help a grin.

“I need more tactical droids! Here! Now! Immediately!” The rich baroque of General Loathsome filled the room, and suddenly the 2 doors to the command center were opening, and numerous droids were entering. As one such droid approached the station Anakin was presently working on, Ben’s grin turned into a curse.

“I think, perhaps, it is time to negotiate,” he hissed to his former padawan. Anakin had time only to give Obi-Wan a quick incredulous look before the ceiling was falling from under him and Ben was using the force to insure for them both a graceful landing.

In spite of Anakin’s surprise, he was as quick as Obi-Wan to draw his lightsaber, and then they were a whirl of kyber energy hitting metal and electronics. In a few strokes the room was clear, and Anakin waved both hands to close the doors on either side, ever the stronger between them in pure force power, buying them precious minutes.

“General Loathsom, it’s a pleasure to meet you in the flesh,” Ben had his saber at Loathsom’s throat.

“General Kenobi,” Loathsom growled. He was far less enthused than his opponent.

“I’m afraid we’re on a tight schedule, General. If you wouldn’t mind joining us for a little walk?” Ben gestured with his blade towards the door on the left, nearest Anakin.

When no one moved, Ben looked at Anakin, then tilted his head towards Loathsom, “Would you mind, Anakin?”

Anakin brought his blade to Loathsom’s throat, replacing Obi-Wan’s, which allowed Ben to stow away his saber and reach for the large disk on his back. He walked around to the terminal the storage device was lodged in, “Did you complete the transfer?”

“I think I got everything important – the newest droid specs anyway.”

“Excellent, in that case there is no need to dawdle.” He pulled out the storage dongle, and rigged the disk to the center column. He considered it for a moment in satisfaction, then walked to the door on the right.

“You gonna tell me what that is yet, Master?”

Ben swatted him through their bond.

Aloud he merely said, “If you’ll follow me, gentlemen?”

Twenty minutes, three droid confrontations, two shouting matches with a large male Kerkoiden….and a plethora of bomb placements later, they finally reach an exit hatch. The door opened onto a surprisingly blue sky, and a view of shining crystal towers.

He could sense Anakin’s patience running thin. He’d give the Knight the role of hostage management while he had the pleasure of leading the fight out; it appeared the role did not agree with him. The timing here was critical, however, and an element only Ben knew the particulars of. No sooner had they moved through the hatch then he felt a surge in the Force behind him, followed—

_BOOM BOOM BOOM Boom Boom boom boom_

It was a cascade, loud at first, then echoing, as if the explosions were running chamber by chamber.

And in the wake of that cascade, Ben _sprinted_ , leading them well clear of the blast zone before turning to take in the destruction. He sensed rather than saw Anakin shooting a long look his way.

“It is rather impressive, if I do say so myself.”

Anakin raised a pointed brow.

Ben shrugged his shoulders with all the nonchalance of a man in exile with nothing to lose, and grinned, “Let’s just say the command center won’t be a problem moving forward.” And then he turned to Anakin and _winked_.

Anakin’s eyes widened in disbelief, as if to say, ‘Who are you, and what have you done with my Master?’.

Still grinning, Obi-Wan continued their walk perpendicular to the former warehouse, “Now all we need is our get away car!”

The force always provides, and Anakin and he spotted it at the same moment – a hover car, parked halfway between their current building and the main shipyard. How they had not attracted more attention yet, he had no idea, but their luck could not last much longer.

Almost as if in echo to his thoughts, a red light vaulted out of his peripheral vision.

Thin, graceful, and bald as a Bith, the black clad figure landed in front of Anakin and Loathsom, blocking the path to the hover car. _Not good, but not…unexpected._

“Why hello there,” Ben forced himself to calm before the maelstrom that was Asajj Ventress. He wondered what…but was that not why he was here? He felt his vision distort as he called forward his inner eye, his sense of the living force. She was…just as chaotic on that plane as he had found her emotions to be throughout their long acquaintance. It was not just the juxtaposing colors—reds and blacks interwoven with blue greys, yellow greys, slate greys and…well, sufficive to say she made grey an entire palette range. Her weaving was what was so remarkable. Like a ball of tangled tooka hair, her essence was masses of knotted fibers, frayed edges seeming to catch, leading to disordered masses. It was chaos. He wondered if it was the natural state of a Nightsister—perhaps magic brought structure to that chaos? Or was Ventress really just that…twisted up inside?

“Obi-Wan Ken-obi.” Ventress drew out the name, her attention for the moment slipping from Loathsome and Anakin. Her sultry tongue seeming to feel out every word. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. My little padawan _nephew_.” She stated it as an insult; as if Obi-Wan should be belittled by the title. _Ben_ , however, had grown quite reaccustomed to the title Padawan. To be a Learner was hardly an insult.

“Ventress.” He smiled. “Tell me, is Dooku everything you wanted in a Master?”

Her reply was to ignite her second saber, shifting into a Makashi modified Jar-kai, one blade held at shoulder height, ready for a jab, her right blade held down and to the side.

He tried again, adding more bite to the taunt. “Does he share his knowledge freely, dear Aunt? Is he a proud Father?”

She shrieked, and jumped, and Ben saw Anakin take a step back, even as her motion took her outside his range and directly towards Ben. _Yes, Padawan, I am once again succeeding at negotiations_.

She came down with a flurry of reposts with all the finesse of Dooku's Makashi, but a speed more reminiscent of Vaapad. Obi-Wan blocked the attack, but just barely, a burn marking his left pauldron. 

He was out of practice. Instincts of this young body slightly at odds with the more restrained, liquid style his sand-aged joints had leaned towards on Tatooine.

But he had the Force to guide him, and that was an ally fit for any foe. Ventress vaulted to the other side of Ben, striking down from above in an Ataru move Obi-Wan himself had once favored. He flicked it aside with an economic swipe of his blade, and Ventress used that resistance to twirl back the way she’d come slashing sideways to try to catch his unguarded arm, only to be blocked again.

She took a step back, and Ben sensed more than saw Anakin stepping to his side. He spared the boy a glance—Loathsom was on the ground—had Anakin knocked him out? He must have, but he hadn’t the time to—

He heard Ventress take a deep breath, and then she force jumped so high it put his eyes into the sun trying to spot her. She came down like a hammer against Ben’s anvil, but even as her blade hit, she spun, saving the momentum and channeling it into her off hand, as she _threw_ the second blade in a controlled spin straight at Anakin’s head. The force shouted an urgent warning, and Anakin heard it as clearly as Ben, for the Knight ducked before the blade left her hand, leaving the blade to fly violently handle over plasma into— _no. No no no._ The blade had lodged itself into Whorm Loathsom’s chest. It was an act worthy of Ventress; an act he should have anticipated.

“Is that what your Master taught you, Ventress?” he spat, “To kill a man while he is down?”

“He taught me the language of Power, and I speak it fluently.” Her smile was victorious, condescending.

“I have found that the less power a person has, the more they like to use it. And I was not referring to _Dooku_ , dear Aunt. Tell me, what would your _first_ master say?”

It was a theory, only that, but he was certain that Dooku was not her first instructor, and he had long suspected…and these were the questions he was here for, he might as well play the game.

She froze, her eyes widening.

“Your first master was a good man, wasn’t he, Ventress?” Her pupils filled her entire iris’s, and she opened her mouth, but no words came out. So he was right. It must have been a Jedi. She’d been trained by a _Jedi_.

“Did you do his bidding as you do Dooku’s? Were you a slave to him, as you are to the Count?”

Something in his words had been the wrong foot, for her face transformed into a scowl, her brows furrowing to form a deep rivet in her forehead. With a pained yell she summoned her second blade from Loathsom’s body, readying herself for another strike. But she didn’t strike. She favored her sharp tongue instead.

“We are all slaves to the Force, nephew. And when the Force leads you only to pain, then you must learn to walk with whatever teacher you might find to channel it. A slave does not _choose_ their master.”

That was…a rather dark view of the world. And did much to explain the matted knots of her spirit. He did not want to be an instrument of more pain for her, not if that truly was what had lead her on this path to darkness. Ben's blade lowered to his side. “Every moment is a choice, dear Ventress. A choice to live, a choice to forgive, a choice to be forgiven.” Their eyes locked. But he saw no loosening of her expression, no give. Instead, a smile curled on her lips.

And then he was struck with a wave of blaster fire. His blade met the barrage only _just_ , spinning in poor form about his wrist.

 _Sith spit! Never trust a Sith!_

Ventress had merely been buying time.

Ben tried to track her with one eye, as his form adjusted to account for the growing density of blasters; Ventress vaulted onto the ceiling of the former command center—it was an escape, not a flanking move then. That at least was something.

Anakin had somehow managed to engage the hovercar and he heard the engine squeal as he took it in a 180 degree spin, lining it up directly behind his Master. Ben jumped onto the hood without a second thought. If he could shield the car from the worst of the blaster bolts coming their way, then their escape plan was still intact. He squinted against the crystal refracted sun to size up the oncoming unit, and shouted his assessment.

“Looks like a 30 unit platoon, but I can see those LR-57 combat droids not too far behind them. If we can—oof” he nearly fell into the glass windshield from the impact of that blaster bolt. That wasn’t a normal bolt! It was a kind of high intensity beam only found on LR-57s, but “—that’s a greater range than I remembered.”

He cursed, and felt himself pulled backwards by a force gesture. His back connected with the passenger seat, and he twisted quickly to right himself.

“Was that really necessary, Padawan?”

“You know, Master,” Anakin ignored his gripe; they were sky-rocketing across the shipyard, too fast for the droids to match, most units still in their docking positions. His Padawan, superior driver that he was, had already dismissed their attackers and had greater aspirations. “Major List won’t be happy that you borrowed all those bombs and didn’t even use half of them.”

Ben took a breath, not liking the speed of the car any more than he liked the driver. But the Knight had a very good point.

“You’re entirely right, Anakin, it would just be so wasteful,” He took another deep breath, then pulled off an ion grenade and force threw it into a droid docking bay on their right. 

_BeeYOOOM!_

He really must compliment List on his choice of munitions. These ion bombs were far superior to standard bunker busters.

He directed another to the next docking stand. And then to the parked gunship on their left. And the charging LR-57s just _there_ …The Separatists really ought to consider vehicle checkpoints, if their base could be this easily swept.

But they were forgetting something. He pointed back the way they’d come, “I’m afraid we still have one last target.”

“Of course we do,” Anakin grumbled.

“The shield generator.”

“They have a—wait, but the command center should have disabled it! You’re telling me you carried that giant black disk for _kriff_ all??” Anakin kicked on the emergency repulsor break, slamming them hard into a spinning turn, then maximized the thrust again taking them back the way they had come.

“Only temporarily disabled. There’s always a manual startup.”

Anakin hit the wheel in frustration, “And you couldn’t have mentioned this before we passed it?”

“Would you believe me if I say I forgot?”

“If you miss this shot, Master, I’m not turning back again.”

Ben readied the grenade with exaggerated care, tossed it and….There was a flash, and then a destructive roar.

“I think it’s time we head home, wouldn’t you agree?”

~*~

“Commander Cody, are you there?”

His mic was crackling madly. _Damn this wind_.

He could just make out Cody’s words, “General Kenobi. Sir, do you need an evac?”

“No, we’re on our way back. But I’d like to start a full assault.”

“Sir?”

A shadow fell across the hover car and he looked up with a curse. “Nevermind. I hope you still have those snipers in place. Some air units are inbound to your location. Four droid Gunships”

“Just a second, Sir.”

The comm channel went dead. _Did Cody just place me on hold?_

“Sir, I’ve relayed that intel. Thanks for the heads up.” _Yes, he kriffing put me on hold._ Good man, that Cody.

“Of course, Cody. I think you’ll be much happier with the rest of our news.”

There was a pregnant pause on the line--Commander Cody hated surprises. He did not keep him in pain _too_ long.

“Anakin and I managed to destroy their command center, their shield generator, and a good portion of their docking stations.”

“ _Kriff_ Sir, are you _serious_?”

“I _thought_ you’d be happy, Commander.” Ben was quite pleased with himself as well, and while he was not one to brag, it was .. nice…to share the excitement.

“This is great, Sir. I’ll have the LA-ATs prepped. We can have boots up at--,” there was a pause, no doubt to check a chronometer, “—1000. Just doing some mop-up here.”

“Thank you Cody, we should be with you in about 15. How was the ambush?”

“The operation was smooth. We _did_ have to make use of the grappling gun escape, but no men were lost, and we took down an entire company of droids when we collapsed the lower level. Most of their tanks were put out of commission by the demo team, but the ATTE’s are only now starting to clear the remaining Battle droids. It’ll be another hour before the area is fully cleared, but the threat is low at this point.”

“As always, you have everything under control.” His Commander had never let him down. At least not….not until the end. “I’ll leave you to it, Cody.”

He ended the transmission.

~*~

Obi-Wan surveyed the camp in satisfaction. _This is a day to cherish, Qui-Gon, and I thank you for it_. Fake though it may be, it was so _vindicating_ to take a moment in history, study it, and prove the study in the doing. So damn rewarding to _fix_ it. He rested his arms across his chest, the tightness he’d felt upon waking forgotten with the rush of adrenaline he’d been riding since the moment he’d jumped on that speeder at 0600.

3 men. They’d lost 3 men. Another 8 injured. Compared to nearly 2,000 lost in the bullheaded forward assault he’d bungled at the _real_ battle.

_I truly was a fool. Would that I could have seen it. Would that_ **this** _could have been my history instead of my meditation._

“General Kenobi,” a trooper was coming his way, a civilian in toe. Obi-Wan ran a hand through his over-long cinnamon hair, in no hurry to acknowledge them. His gaze swept over the rows of AT- TEs, slowly marching back to the mech tent, their lumbering, clunking steps sending vibrations across the quad. Rows of orderly troops were leaning over gear bags and pulling at their blue and yellow painted armor, stripping their specialized munitions to return to the depot. He saw members of Ghost and Torrent companies off to his right, munching on ration bars. Boil and Hawk had their arms lifted, Hawk miming a sniper shot, and Boil expanding his arms, in pantomime of an explosion. Several others were laughing unselfconsciously.

He turned to give the civilian a look over. His clothes were dusty, but refined; light blue piping on a dark blue tunic; his stance uncertain, but not anxious. The creases on his forehead put him perhaps in his 40s, assuming he was human.

“General Kenobi, I’ve been sent on behalf of Senator Organa. We understand there’s been a large battle, and the Senator would like an update on the state of the blockade so that he can appropriately coordinate the Sentient Aid supply lines.”

A senatorial aid. How _delightful_. “And you would be?” Ben’s tone was polite, but his raised eyebrow spoke for him.

“Clarence. Clarence Argentis, Senior aid to Senator Organa.”

Obi-Wan did not extend his hand, arms still comfortably folded across his chest, and Clarence aborted his attempt at extending his own, “A pleasure to meet you Clarence. I’ll be with you in a moment. Trooper . . . Bell is it?”

“Y-yes Sir.” The clone looked startled to be addressed by name.

“If you can return our guest to the South entrance?”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

 _You used to hate giving orders, did you not, my Padawan?_ He no longer needed Qui-Gon’s presence to envision his recriminations.

 _But today is a day full of fantasy, Qui-Gon. And it has long been a fantasy of mine that I would one day possess enough wisdom that my orders might be_ worth _following, and therefore be_ worth _the giving._

Obi-Wan punched his comm unit, “Cody – are you there?” The clanking steps of the AT-TEs came through the channel quite loudly, telling him Cody was monitoring the mech bay. Someone was yelling in the background _“—karking machine to the left! I told you we –"_.

“Yes, General?”

“I’m headed to the command center to check in with Admiral Brook and Yularen, if you care to join?”

“Yes, Sir, be right there Sir.”

~*~

It was an even more delighted Ben Kenobi that met Senior Senatorial aid Clarence 30 minutes later. With the complete collapse of the Separatist base that morning, the Separatist armada had withdrawn to the shadow of Christophsis’s outer moon, with all signs pointing to their imminent departure. The skies above Christophsis were now entirely clear.

“Senior Aid Argentis.” Obi-Wan’s steps had been neither loud nor intentionally soft, but the man startled, his eyes having been on a Pad instead of watching the path.

“I am at your disposal,” Ben half bowed and gestured forward with a showy twirl of the hand, a deference present in the motion that could be interpreted as respect or mockery, to equal measure.

They did not have far to walk. The impromptu military complex had been set up mere blocks from the capital building, and while it was not, perhaps, the _safest_ location for the government to be operating out of at present, it remained the most convenient by far, and so it was still in full use.

Clarence guided him through an unimpressive security check and a much _more_ impressive, richly carpeted hallway. It ended in a very large, very severe ebony door, embossed with a fractal pattern of expanding crystals. It reminded Obi-Wan of the crystal caves on Illum – sharp jagged lines, cold, yet evoking energy with their clustering columnar patterns. His guide looked about to speak, his mouth opening, then snapping shut. Whatever he saw in Obi-Wan’s face, he must not have liked, for he ultimately kept is mouth shut, and rapped smartly on the door. After a pause, it swung open smoothly from an internal actuator.

He was greeted by a crowd of faces. He had really only expected _one_ , however, and so his eyes naturally move to meet Bail’s—Senator Organa’s--anyway, all other faces unimportant. _The galaxy does not deserve Bail Organa_ , the thought flittered past, brief, but true. _Would that I had let my convictions carry me as he did, instead of my sense of duty._

_And would that Qui-Gon hadn’t set me to reminiscing._

A pale skinned humanoid with delicate nose ridges and a silver circlet around their forehead was shaking his hand, “General Kenobi, I am Prime Magistrate Klaksen; allow me to introduce to you my cabinet.”

Clarence had moved to Bail’s side, looking a tad smug. Ben, uncomfortably aware that his diplomacy skills just _may_ have grown rusty in his 7 years on Tatooine, went through the motions, and was able to garner, through context and the Force, that Klaksen was the elected ruler of the planet. From the cabinet introductions he further inferred that the Senator who represented Christophsis, Senator Almek, was still on Coruscant, petitioning the Senate for help with the blockade. Klaksen’s cabinet was in charge of the planets defense, and its relief, paltry though both had been.

“—and as you’re aware, Senator Organa’s Sentient Aid group has been trying to send us medical and architectural equipment for over a week now, but very little has gotten through. From the explosions outside, I fear we will not have much of a capital left when this is through.” That was Kalem, the official charged with the care of the capital city they currently occupied.

“Principle Kalem, Magistrate Klaksen, I do have some good news on that front,” Ben intoned, the epitome of confidence, “This morning at 0700 the droid army made a frontal assault on the capital, via the Central Thoroughfare. My men successfully rebutted the assault, with minimal loss of life, with very heavy damage dealt to the droid forces. Your city is safe at present.”

“At present?” Kalem’s voice quavered.

Obi-Wan affected a tired look. “The Separatist fleet is still out there, and, just as worrying, we’ve found a new droid model. We are concerned there may be a new manufacturer. They are stamped with the letters ‘RC’.” He looked quizzically around the room, making eye contact with the Commerce Minister and Science Minister in particular.

Klaksen looked furiously around the room, chittering to the Commerce and Business Ministers. His voice began to rise, even as the Commerce Minister pointed to the Trade deputy.

Ben furrowed his brows into a confused frown, allowing the chaos to ripen. He saw Clarence whisper to Bail.

At length Klaksen returned to face the Jedi General. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention.” Frustration was evident in his tone, “We believe the manufacturer is the Retail Caucus. They are . . . a private entity. We will be performing an . . . audit of their records, to investigate this matter.”

Ben shifted his face to chagrined, “Thank you for confirming the manufacturer, Magistrate. I admit, I had hoped perhaps your government was more familiar with them – you know how Defense contractors are – they’ll only share their secrets with those who are funding them . But, if we could garner intelligence on their supply chain we may be able to clear the threat to your system entirely.” He looked sadly at the Security Minister.

Klaksen looked uncomfortable. “Would that we could help, General Kenobi, but to support war profiteering is strictly against Republic law, and Chistophsis takes great strides to prevent such contracts.” _Ah, so they don’t want the affiliation_.

“Magistrate, please, I never intended to imply – that is to say, I would never presume your government would be involved with such a thing. But, then, I’d hardly consider government subsidies and dedicated shipyard lanes to be suggestive of _war profiteering_.” A pointed silence filled the room. Several Ministers exchanged wide eyed looks.

_And now . . . I drop the ask. There’s no rust_ here _, Senior aid Clarence_ . . .

“If _you_ r government is _concerned_ , however, about the _impression_ of an affiliation with the Retail Caucus, I _do_ have a suggestion for an alternative use for those shipyard lanes.”

The Minister of Commerce stepped forward, arms folded across her chest in counterpart to Ben’s own stance. She was short, with dark brown hair, and a comfortable figure. “What would you propose, Master Jedi?”

“Christophsis is only one of many planets suffering in this galactic conflict. And where Christophsis has run short on medical and structural supplies, other planets are running short on something Christophsis has in excess— _energy_. Shipments of your crystal generators could help millions on Ryloth, Savareen, and many other outer rim worlds.”

The brunette raised her chin, given him a considering look, “How many shipments?”

Ben brought a fist to his chin to rub his beard, pursing his lips in feigned thought, “With that size of shipping lane, the Retail Caucus could have shipped over a million units just this year. It takes at least 100,000 droids to effectively disrupt a rim world’s economy, which gives us 10 worlds who could claim war reparations. Hypothetically of course. And that disruption could have impacted several cities on each world . . I would say we’ll need 2000 units this year.”

There was a gasp from the Finance minister, followed by mumbling from the Business Minister “Two _thousand_?”

The Commerce Minister remained sanguine, “Christophsis can _hardly_ be expected to support such an endeavor while we ourselves remain under blockade. Every day of blockade costs us millions of credits in lost trade. By the end of the week we won’t have the funds to help anyone but ourselves.”

“You raise a fair point. Let us say we … deduct 200 units for every day the blockade continues, until your trade routes are open again?”

The brunette shook her head, evoking as much faux sorrow as Ben himself. “We cannot resume trading until the shipyard is clear. If the republic could send more men to clear the city entirely, then our gratitude would make this burden more palatable to our people.”

“I see. So it will be 200 units for every day the Capitol remains occupied as well?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Hmmm. That _is_ a problem. The army is short of men as it is, and what men we have are low on morale. Eight men died to defend your city this morning. Yet they were not even considered citizens by the very republic they fought for. If my men could hear your support for the enforcement of the Sentient Rights Act, and your vote to sign into law the Clone Citizenship Bill, I cannot express how much it would mean to them. How much it would mean to _me_.”

Magistrate Klaksen looked alarmed. This conversation, which was now clearly a negotiation, was entering mirky waters. And here was the High General of the 3rd Sector Army, at his door, face full of earnest appeal. And for once, whether Klaksen knew it or not, it was not an affectation--this _meant_ something to Ben, and he did not hide it.

“Alderaan is one of the co-sponsors to the Clone Citizenship Bill,” Bail, ever astute to the feel of a room, chose that moment to enter the deliberation, “I would be happy to brief you on the details. Alderaan echoes the General’s sentiments – it would mean much to Alderaan and Alderaan’s relationship with Christophsis, if you would join us in this pivotal stand for Sentient rights.”

Magistrate Klaksen looked between them; there was really no choice to be made, had he even been opposed to it to begin with. “We of course appreciate the work of the soldiers of the Republic army, and would be honored to join Alderaan in supporting this Bill,” his voice was stilted, tired, “I will advise Senator Almec as to our opinion on this matter. As to the generators, I believe we can support our Commerce Ministers proposal. You will be hard pressed to clear the city inside of 5 days in any case.”

“Signed and Witnessed, Magistrate, and I look forward to seeing Senator Almek when I return to the Senate,” Clarence, Bail’s apparently quite competent aid, held up a pad, where their agreement had been dictated, and proffered a stylus to Klaksen.

Ben watched as the document was digitally notarized. He felt, once again, quite pleased with himself. This dance with the past was truly a diverting experiment, and he must remember to apologize for criticizing his Master’s choice.

“With that bit of business taken care of, I have another announcement.” Ben moved his arms to behind his back, falling into a relaxed military posture.

The Commerce minister narrowed her eyes, struggling to spot the trick she sensed was coming.

“At 0830 hours this morning, myself and General Skywalker successfully infiltrated the enemy’s position near the Christophsis Shipyard. Not only were we able to gain critical intelligence regarding the Retail Caucus and Separatist forces, but we managed to destroy their Command Center and shield generator. We then proceeded to lead a full assault on the shipyards. The operation was successful and it is with great relief that I inform you that as of noon today the entire shipyard and its surroundings has been cleared, and Separatist General Whorm Loathsom killed. All Separatist forces in the sector are in retreat. Christophsis is free.”

It was a testament to the hypocrisy of war that the crowd before him was not uniformly gratified to hear this.

~*~

“Master Kenobi, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, I had not taken you for a politician.” Bail had a crystal decanter out, and was pouring them each 2 fingers of an amber liquid.

Several hours had passed since Ben’s grand pronouncement to the cabinet. Senator Organa had caught him before he returned to camp with a private invitation for an evening drink. Ben could not refuse, nor would he wish to. It was only fitting that he would end this mirage enjoying a … _moment_. A moment without sorrow, a moment with a man he would come to so deeply respect.

“You _wound_ me, Senator. Long have I lectured my padawan on the untrustworthiness of politicians.” Ben had folded himself into his chair, right leg raised so that his ankle rested on his left knee. His left hand rested on his raised shin, while his right gladly accepted the crystal glass proffered him, “What you saw in there was a _negotiation_. One does not need to be a politician to _negotiate._ ”

Bail took a seat opposite the Jedi, a low coffee resting between them. He quirked an eyebrow as he retorted, “It was my understanding that the Jedi’s skills lent themselves to more . . . _aggressive_ negotiations.”

“That, my friend, depends on the Jedi,” Ben dipped his head in acknowledgement, and took a sip from his glass. “Corellian?” Ben marveled at the contents, “Wherever did you come by this?”

Bail’s smile widened, pleased that Obi-Wan had recognized the offering, “Let’s just say that, when you’re starting a non-profit aid group focused on blockaded planets, it helps to learn from the experts.”

Ben’s smile grew to match, “my compliments to your teachers, in that case.” He took another, smaller sip, savoring the smooth, smokey flavor that left a warm burn in his throat.

“I truly must commend you on your ‘negotiations’, however you want to call what you did back there. It was deftly done.” Ben’s smile softened, and he looked at his drink rather than at Bail at the compliment. Bail, tall even when seated, tilted his head down in an effort to force eye contact, “It goes without saying, of course, that we might all be dead right now had you not broken the blockade and fought off the Separatists. The Republic owes you a debt for your service. You and all the Jedi.”

Obi-Wan _did_ meet his eyes at that, his smile sobering into something less blithe. “The Republic,” Ben says softly. He uncrosses his leg and leans forward, setting his glass on the table between them. “A republic is defined by its representation of the people within it. _Are_ we still a republic? If, in a single vote, we can enslave millions of living beings to fight for rights they may never have?”

Bail’s own smile was gone, his eyes slightly wide. They did not know each other particularly well, Ben realized. Certainly not now, if he could ever claim that distinction even in the future. Perhaps Bail had expected more decorum from a Master Jedi? It had been a rather unnecessarily dark twist on a compliment.

The Senator recovered quickly though, to his credit, “I agree on that, Master Kenobi. As do others. A clone army is . . . well, many do not know what to make of it. They are tied to the republic now, though, whether we like it or not, which is why many of us in the Senate are fighting to gain them full rights. But Master Kenobi, a democracy can only exist as long as those within it _believe_ it exists. Have faith.”

_How hard must the fall have been for Bail Organa? To have that faith, so sure even now at the outset of war, so utterly betrayed?_

Ben picked his glass back up, still leaning over the table, “Is it a democracy, Senator, once the people willingly give over their right for a voice, to one man?”

“The Chancellor is a good man. It is only temporary.”

Ben shook his head, but did not immediately respond. He took a sip of the brandy, closing his eyes to savor the taste. He did not want his last hours in this memory to be filled with thoughts of the Chancellor, so he deflected instead, “I only meant, Senator, that if you wanted to thank me, I would ask that you do so on behalf of yourself, or on behalf of Alderaan, not on behalf of the Republic. The Jedi are not meant to be soldiers. We fight now for _people_. The billions of lives across the Galaxy, in and out of the republic, who we might help. Who we might spare from the full devastation of war or oppression by intervening.”

Bail took a sip of his own crystal glass, his eyes on Obi-Wan assessing. As if he was seeing something he had not expected.

“And I do have hope,” Ben allowed, “Just . . . not . . . I think . . . in the way you imagine.”

They both drank to that and silence lapsed. Organa perhaps expecting some elaboration, but Obi-Wan was not obliged to provide it.

After the silence lapsed into awkwardness, the Senator leaned forward, setting his own glass on the table, “You say the Jedi are not meant to be soldiers,” he said, “Do you object to your assignment as Generals? My understanding was that the recommendation came from the High Council itself?” he frowned, making his confusion clear.

“It did.”

Obi-Wan remembered, with detachment, the certainty he had held when he was truly the age he currently inhabited. The certainty of their purpose. His sense of victory after the first Battle of Geonosis; his sanguinity with their use of the clones. 

He allowed himself to sink into the force. To see the threads coalesce around the man sitting before him, who was not yet the wizened leader of a rebellion; who was in fact still a young man, of an age with Obi-Wan himself. Bail’s aura in the Force was all whites and pinks and yellows; bright; the threads of hope sparkling like an ever glowing furnace.

He did not want to be the damper to that fire.

“What do you know about the origin of the Clone army?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where did the Clones come from?” Ben prompted.

He was met with a raised brow, “Kamino.”

Ben nodded, “Yes. But tell me, who placed the order?”

“Ah,” Bail rubbed his goatee. “The Senate was told that the order was placed by the Jedi.”  
  
“And were you told who paid for it?”

Bail’s lips compressed into a line, “the general assumption,” he hesitated, aware that he was missing something, but not what, “was that the Jedi paid for the first batch.”

Ben shook his head, and couldn’t prevent disappointment from creeping into his tone, “Do you know how much one clone costs, Senator?”

“I . . . there is a proposal being put for additional orders. They are requesting 80 billion credits, spread across the fleet and the army,” he seemed to be dong the mental math, “If the army got half…That would put each trooper at . . . 40000 credits.”

“And what is the budget the Senate allocates to the Jedi Order?”

“I . . . honestly don’t know. It’s never been large enough to come up in budget discussions. So . . . I assume it’s under ten million annually?”

Ben barks a laugh, yet it is not a happy sound, “The order receives less than a million credits a year from the senate, outside of mission specific expenses. There is some separate budgeting for our agriCorps, MediCorps, and EduCorps of course, which is reviewed and audited by the appropriate senate committees. But, we are hardly wealthy. If you discount our temples, I would say it’s unlikely the Jedi has more than 20 million credits worth of material value across the entire galaxy.”

Bail couldn’t hide his surprise, “I . . . had no idea, Master Kenobi. The Jedi Order has always existed, even before the Republic. I suppose many of us just assumed that an organization that old…well, there are many old families in the Republic, and few lack for wealth.”

“Yet in desiring wealth, we would lose that which makes us Jedi,” Ben shook his head emphatically, “No, as a new member of the High Council, I can assure you – the Jedi Order is not wealthy.”

Bail leaned back into his chair, his shoulders tensing in disquietude. “You are leading somewhere with this,” it wasn’t a question. “So, don’t hold back--tell me, who funded this army?”

Ben sat up straighter, but did not relax back into his own chair. “The Kaminoans claimed that the original order was indeed placed by a Jedi – one Jedi Master Sifo Dias. A former council member who was reported missing in action the year before that order was placed. Which puts that claim to question. The clones required a live donor from which to pull DNA samples, and their template was the Bounty Hunter, Jango Fett. I spoke with Fett, while on Kamino, before his death. He told me _he_ was paid by a Lord . . . _Tyranus_.” Ben looked expectantly at Bail, but the name held no meaning. _Clearly the senate briefs could be more thorough._ “We now know that Lord _Tyranus_ is the pseudonym of none other than Count Dooku.”

Bail’s eyes went wide, disbelief hanging in the air, “You can’t mean to tell me the Clone army was ordered and paid for by Count Dooku?! By the Separatists?”

Ben met Bail’s eyes, holding them, letting his complete seriousness soak through.

“You asked me why the Jedi High Council would offer to lead this army. If _you knew_ , that an enemy you had thought dead for a 1000 years, a Sith Lord,” Ben spit the words, “had commissioned an army _in secret_ , for purposes you _could not see_ – tell me, would you not volunteer to oversee that army? To stand vigilant? To try to guard against the true purpose for which they must have been created?”

It was not, in fact, the reason that the High Council had agreed to lead the army. No, they had been utterly naïve, driven only by a sense of duty. But it was the reason Ben _wished_ upon the Council. Duty and Wisdom in equal measure. Guardians not just of the peace, and of these clones, but Guardians of the truth.

This was _his_ dream, so he had made it so.

Bail was caught in his own stare for several seconds; then he retrieved his glass from the table and downed the entire contents. He seemed all at once no longer able to make eye contact, irises looking nowhere as he tried to absorb this unexpected truth. Then he stood and fetched the decanter, pouring them both a second, much larger glass. His fidgeting conveyed much.

He half started a sentence, “But why haven’t –” only to shake his head. There were too many implications to decipher all at once.

Ben sipped his brandy, thinking only that he was sorry to have turned what should have been a victory toast into a somber lecture.

At length, Bail seemed to collect his thoughts. He set his glass down with a _clink_ , met Ben’s blue eyes with an uncertain look but a clenched jaw, and asked, “What can I do to help?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for all the Chapter reposts - more typos. P.S. I'm looking for a second beta reader, if anyone is interested and can commit to weekly editing of both grammar and concepts. My current beta is awesome, but I'm afraid I've put her underwater, and she has, like, a real job sometimes.


	6. Chapter 5: One Day More

“General Kenobi…”

“General Keno--…ease… port to ….”

“General Kenobi, ….report to ….”

“General Kenobi, please report to the command center.”

The persistent chime of a comm unit brought Ben back to awareness. He rolled himself into a sitting position. He was in the same small room this little adventure had begun in, once again stripped of the computer banks that would come to fill it under Imperial control. He ached everywhere and there was a pounding in his head. _This seems…familiar_. He saw his vambrace comm unit on the floor before him, piled with the rest of his armor.

 _Qui-Gon, much as I enjoyed that sojourn through my memories, I’ve no need to relive the same day more than once._ _Truly._

“General Kenobi, please report to the command center.”

With an undignified huff, old Ben Kenobi grabbed the offending vambrace and shut off the blinking comm with an aggressive punch of the finger. Then with even more grumbling he grabbed each piece of armor in turn and methodically fastened the straps that would lock the plastoid components to his arms and legs. A gentle release of the Force pushed the worst of his pounding headache into the void, as he ambled to the elevator.

He was utterly unsurprised to find Anakin, Rex, and Cody at the holo table.

“Enjoy your beauty rest, Master?”

Ben let his shaggy mane of hair speak for itself. _Why oh why did I waste my youth on this blasted haircut._

He looked expectantly at his former Padawan, waiting for the clandestine plan of his day-before to be re-revealed, a memory once again on replay.

Anakin pressed a button on the holo table.

Figures materialized in the air, shrouded in the blue halo of the projector, their images slightly fuzzy, reflecting the low refresh rate of their comm signal. Mace Windu’s voice echoed across the room.

“Thank you for joining us, Obi-Wan.”

Ben felt all the color drain from his face, and quickly did his best to push his shock, and still present headache, fully into the force. The Jedi Council was most certainly _not_ what he was expecting. That would make this . . . well, _really_ it would just make it the _next day_ , but . . . _how long is this meditation intended to last, Qui-Gon?_ It was a level of Force projection he did not know was possible.

“General Kenobi, we were hoping for an update on the ground conditions on Christophsis,” a kind, elderly voice spoke in the gap left by Mace, his timbre a soothing baritone, carrying an affectation of concern.

Ben close his eyes, summoning the Force around him in a warm blanket, into which he reflexively wove himself. In. Out. The threads of the heat and humidity and oxygen of the control room made a tapestry with his own anxiety. It was not the Jedi Council who had called him. It was the Armed Forces Leadership. The presiding member of which was none other than the Chancellor of the Republic.

A Sith Lord. _The_ Sith Lord. The puppet master of all his misery and failings.

_I am the Force and the Force is with me. This is but a moment in time. A moment to understand our enemy. To see what we missed before the Fall._

_So that we may see a path beyond our Fall._

Ben opened his eyes. A mere 10 seconds of silence had fallen since the question was posed, but Anakin was already projecting anxious restlessness at Obi-Wan’s silence. So Old Ben Kenobi did what he would not have been able to do at Ani’s age, and summoned all the composer of his 46 year old Force presence into a calm façade.

“I have good news, Chancellor. We have successfully neutralized the entire Separatist base on Christophsis, and their Fleet is in retreat. You will have my full report later today, but sufficive to say it was a route.”

Palpatine’s expression was oh so believably affable, “excellent news, General Kenobi. Our intelligence had suggested they were quite entrenched. However did you get past their defenses?”

“I share in that question. We all had the same briefing – we had feared you’d be drawn into a long campaign.”

Obi-Wan spread his hands, as if the situation was outside his control. “General Skywalker and myself led a successful operation to infiltrate the enemy base, and through the will of the Force were able to disable their command center and shield. We were quite lucky, I think, in that the main droid army was at the time attempting a forward assault on our own base; an assault fully rebuffed by some creative tactics on behalf of Commander Cody and Captain Rex.”

Cody and Rex shared a look, uncomfortable with the misplaced accolades, and Anakin looked as if he was struggling to spot a slight in the carefully worded run down.

“Any word on General Loathsom? Did he escape?”

Anakin spoke up before his Master could needlessly obfuscate. “General Loathsom was unfortunately killed during the infiltration.” Ben was surprised at Anakin’s tact, and a little ashamed that he should be so surprised.

“That is indeed good news. I look forward to the report.” Windu was visibly pleased, the harsh lines around his mouth for once turned into something other than a frown.

“Yes, the Republic thanks you for this great victory, General Kenobi. We may yet see an end to this conflict before the year is through.” The Chancellor’s smile seemed so _genuine._ The part of Ben that knew this was but a memory, a meditation, could acknowledge that Palpatine may have been the best actor he had ever met. It was truly remarkable.

Yet, it is hard to hold onto detachment when you are fully _living_ a memory. This, Ben supposed, was the true insight of Qui-Gon’s lesson. As such, Obi-Wan could not fully contain the twitch in his jaw as he forced his expression to remain neutral. “Indeed, Chancellor, that is my hope as well.”

“I will meet with the Senate tomorrow to discuss this victory, and where the Grand Army may next be put to best use. Our thanks go to you all.” The stately man winked out from the holo table, leaving just Mace and Yoda.

The wizened, cracking voice of Master Yoda picked up the silence left by the Chancellor’s departure, “Speak of this more, we shall. When arrive, I do.”

“Master Yoda?” Anakin looked flabbergasted.

“Matters to discuss, we have. Both you, and your Master.” Yoda, unlike Windu, was _not_ smiling. His eyes looked considering as he surveyed the both of them with a slight frown. He squinted at Obi-Wan, and Ben bowed his head, wishing for the long, comforting sleaves of his tattered jedi robes, as he made the traditional motion of respect for his order and found no place to put his hands.

“We look forward to your arrival, Master Yoda. When might we expect you?”

“Arrive this evening, I do. Talk then, we shall.” 

The call was ended.

“Did you know he was coming?” Anakin’s face was not quite frowning, his fingers fussing with the dark fabric wrapped around his arms.

“Hmmm.” Was Ben’s illuminating response. _Had he?_ He of course recalled the Master’s visit, _and_ his traveling companion, but could not recall if he had been notified . . . “No. I did not, but I would not worry, Anakin. I for one could use his council.”

Obi-Wan turned to leave, quite ready to hunt out some tea, or, if needs must, some caf to soothe what he now recognized as a Corellian hangover. “I’m headed to the mess. Would any of you care to join?” he called over his shoulder.

He was met with three surprised pairs of eyes.

“I was planning an inspection for the 501st, Sir, if you’ll pardon my absence,” Rex summoned the excuse quickly, bucket in hand. It was transparent to Obi-Wan that Cody was searching for a similar excuse, but, being directly under Kenobi’s command, he could not simply invent an order that had not been given.

“I would . . . be delighted, General.” _Good man._

Anakin looked between Ben, Rex, and Cody, weighing his options. “I…better join Rex. And I was hoping to take a look at the blueprints we took, of the Retail Caucus drones. See if there’s an override or something else we can use if we encounter them again.”

Obi-Wan finished his turn towards the elevator in order to hide his grin. Boys will be boys.

~*~

“Polish, if you were any more shiny I’d go blind. Now be a good trooper and take the red sauce.”

Polish wanted to believe Trip—many of his brothers seemed to be using the sauce liberally on their food--but something about the smile on the face of the ARC trooper across from him made him hesitate.

“ _Dinuir_ _vod! give it, brother!_ use it or pass it!” Trip’s partner in crime, Can, reached an arm out to take the jar, and Polish reflexively gripped the bottle more tightly. With a downturned lip he twisted off the cap, and let a pinky sized dollop of the thick, bright red sauce fall on his plate.

“Ah, Polish, you won’t even be able to _taste_ that,” Trapper, the trooper on his left, seized the bottle, rather rudely Polish thought, and poured the goop across his plate, until it was practically a soup. “There, _haili cetare!” Eat up!_

“ _Attention on Deck!”_ Polish felt a moments reprieve as a lieutenant—Waxer, he thought—shot up and announced the standard call indicating a more senior officer had entered the room. It was a common enough occurrence he didn’t bother looking up, his focus still on the intimidating red sludge before him. His reprieve was fleeting in any case.

_“Haili cetare, Polish! Haili cetare!”_

Polish slowly raised the spoon to his mouth, his trepidation growing. He looked to the only other shiny of their group, Jag, for reassurance, but his brother’s eyes were just as wide as his own. He closed his eyes and took in the spoonful in one gulp. His eyes shot open. _Hettyc!—hettyc!—hettyc—tracyn!--tracyn! burning! Fire!_ He opened his mouth, willing the substance back up, his hand waving futilely in front of his mouth.

“ _K’atini_!” “ _K’atini_!” _Suck it up!_ Trip and Can were yelling at him, laughter in their _krazzsch_ voices.

Polish rose to his feet, hands still fanning. “—Wat—er,” he croaked. Jag jumped up, making a line for dispenser. The commissary was little more than an impromptu tent, albeit a tent that could hold 300 men; but it had been set up with all the efficiency and logistical rigor they could always expect from Major List, and so had the expected basic liquid dispenser stations at each entrance. Polish closed his eyes, trying to focus on anything but the burning that was consuming his nose, throat, and mouth. Trapper was outright laughing, and he sensed the mirth in the eyes of brothers at nearby tables. _If Jag doesn’t hurry I’m making my own sprint for the kriffing dispenser._

Then he heard the _whumpf_ of one body hitting another, followed by a curse from Jag--“ _Copaani mirshmure’cye, vod_?” _are you looking for a smack in the face, brother?_

A hush abruptly filled the tent.

Polish opened his eyes.

There was Jag, still three tables away, eyes wide in horrified dismay; and next to him . . . _Osi’kyr!_ The Marshal Commander. _Vod…you’ve done it now!_

But… wait, that’s not who Jag was looking at . . . a tawny haired man was rebalancing on his feet, and from his position relative to Jag it seemed clear _he_ was the man his brother had collided with; the man turned and Polish finally registered why the face was familiar -- what the symbol on his pauldron signified. _Osi’kyr! Osi’kyr! Osi’kyr! it’s the General!_

“Well hello there,” a crisp, tenor voice broke the silence.

“Ni ceta, ni ceta!” Jag babbled, his eyes beseeching, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Sir, I’m so sorry Sir!”

“Attention, Trooper!” The commander’s voice was an angry bark, and Jag remembered himself, stepping back and snapping to attention.

The General looked between the Commander and Jag, eyebrow raised, “ _Udesii_ , trooper. At ease.” Jag dropped his hands to behind his back, at parade rest. Kenobi’s eyes were assessing, “I take it you are in a hurry?”

Polish had managed to forget the fire running through his mouth and nose, caught by his brother’s misfortune, but at those words, his eyes began to water, and it took all his will power not to resume the frantic flapping of his hand in front of his face.

Jag however had clearly pushed thoughts of Polish straight out of his mind, as he replied immediately, “No Sir, I’m sorry, Sir! It won’t happen again, Sir!”

“What’s your designation, Trooper?” The Commander’s voice hadn’t softened.

“CN-77391, Sir.”

Kenobi frowned at the designation, for reasons beyond Polish’s rank he was sure, then his eyes scanned the room. The bright blue iris’s seemed to unerringly fall on Polish, and the clone would have shivered if he wasn’t trying so hard to control his panting.

“Ahh,” the General intoned, and there was a surreal amount of comprehension in that one sound. “Is _tiingilar_ on the menu today then?” The General turned to his right and directed the question at the Marshal Commander. 

The Commander’s response was firm, and his arms were crossed intimidatingly across his chest “No.” _Osi’kyr._ And How did the General even know about that Mando dish?

“Well, I shall have to live with my disappointment then,” the General turned back to Jag, who had not shifted from his tense pose, legs shoulder width apart, one pale hand clasping the other in a fist. The General smiled then, “I don’t know what you’re still doing here, Trooper. I do believe your friend is waiting for you,” He pointed towards Polish, much to his dismay, “I wouldn’t want to slow you down.”

Polish felt the eyes of many of his brothers glance his way. Jag’s face was flushed, his cheeks red in embarrassment, and he half swiveled on his heel, his anxiety and uncertainty palpable, “Sir, uh, yes . . . yes, Sir?"

Jag finally turned and took one full step, only to be stopped again by the General’s wry drawl, “Trooper CN-77391, I do believe you’re forgetting something.”

Jag spun. There, floating in the air beside the General, was the glass of water that had caused this whole disaster. It hovered two feet above the ground, half turned, clearly caught mid fall, and Polish was not the only man in the room to stare at it in amazement.

Murmurs of ‘jetti magic’ rose in the room. Jag just stared at the glass, flabbergasted. The General winked— _did he just_ _wink?_ —raised a hand, and the glass _moved_. It floated across the short distance between him and Jag, right into Jag’s slowly outstretching hand. _Kandossii’la! Amazing!_

The General turned back to the Marshal Commander, closing the encounter, but it took some time for the volume of the room to return to its previous mezzo forte. The nonchalance of the senior officers seemed to dismiss the entire event as immaterial, as if nothing had happened.

Except something _had_ happened, Polish thought. _Jedi magic_! He’d _heard_ of course – the gossip mill aboard _The Perseverance_ was quite active – but the battles to date had only called for the 212th and 501st; Christophsis was the first action his newer 353rd was engaged in. They didn’t even have their own jedi yet. Just a clone Commander. He knew, well he’d _heard,_ that the Generals fought on the front lines with their magic light swords; but to _see_ a jedi. _In person_. _Kandossii’la._

It was a successful temporary distraction, broken by Jag’s return. Trip, Trapper, and Can each gave Jag an appreciative pat on the shoulder as he passed by him to reach his former seat across from Polish, and though Polish _did_ immediately and gratefully take the water his friend offered, he thought perhaps the Jedi had more to do with his recovery than the water.

When he could finally speak, he reached over and gripped Jag’s forearm, “Vor entye, vod. Vor entye.” _I owe you_. “No more red sauce for me. Ever.”

Trip leaned towards them, conspiratorially, “You were lucky, vod. Do you know what the _jetti_ can do with their magic?” Polish glared at Trip. “Hey, hey, if you don’t trust me, ask Can – eh Can?”

“Aye, vod, we’ve seen it ourselves, the General there could have crushed you with his fist. Or thrown you across the room, like _this_ —” he snapped his fingers illustratively.

Trapper leaned over, staring grimly at the shinies – “or _worse_. He could have assigned you ‘fresher duty.” He closed his eyes in feigned disgust.

Trip laughed, “Watch it, _vod_ , I think the Commander still might!” They looked as one to where the Marshal Commander now sat, 3 tables away. The tables were oriented such that he was facing them from his seat, allowing them to see the glare he leveled their way over the General’s shoulder.

Even the 212th ARC Troopers quieted at that, and Trapper discretely grabbed the bottle of red sauce and moved it under the table. Polish stared determinedly at the plate of sauce covered food he was definitely _not_ going to touch.

_I’m never sitting near Trip again._

~*~

“I do believe you’ve frightened them enough for the moment, Cody.”

Cody shifted his back to Ben, his eyes still holding a steely glint that would freeze the heart of any youngling. The clone looked inordinately frustrated by the poor decorum of the men, as if it were a personal affront.

“The men were trained better than that, Sir. It won’t happen again.”

“What – that accident?” Ben took a large sip of his steaming cup; it was hot enough to burn his mouth, and he regretted the lack of tea in the mess. If they’d been aboard ship…but he’d been a caffeine addict for too many years to go without. “I admire your commitment, Commander, but I dare say not even _you_ can put a stop to random chance.”

“Nonetheless, Sir, we don’t allow hazing of new troopers in this battalion, or back talking to a superior officer, and I will see that it doesn’t happen again.” Cody’s eyes once more drifted to the group of troopers sitting several tables behind Ben’s back. His mouth formed a curse, and Ben thought he heard ‘ _ARC Troopers_ ’ mumbled under this breath. There was a lot of mumbling in the canteen at the moment, so much so that one more curse was easily swallowed by the milieux.

“I’m a bit more concerned about what they are currently saying about _me_ , actually,” Ben spoke in a soft undertone, not meant to carry. “Do the men truly think I can or would tear them apart with my…‘jedi magic’?”

Cody’s eyebrows rose and he belatedly met his General’s eyes, “Sir?”

Ben repeated himself, enunciating each word so that Cody could be left with no mistake, “Do - the – men, think a Jedi, could tear them apart limb from limb?”

There was perhaps only one right answer to that, but Cody was at his core an honest man, “Uh, General – many in the 501st and 212th have seen you and General Skywalker throw droids aside with a wave of your hand.”

Ben’s face formed a frown before he could control it. His jedi brothers and sisters were fierce warriors, but… “Let me be the first to educate you, then, Commander,” he sighed. “The Jedi hold life dear. The Force – it is an energy that connects all living things. For a Jedi to use the Force to tear the life from another – that is the path of darkness. It is what makes Dooku, and Ventress, and the Sith, so terrible; that they would take that which interconnects us all, and tarnish it.”

His voice was unconsciously rising, and he forced himself to lower the volume.

“I would never hurt one of my men with the Force. I would like to say no being who claims the title of Jedi ever would.” Ben tried to convey his sincerity through the intensity of his gaze, eye to eye with his commander, but he worried he was only unnerving the man.

Cody eventually just said, “Alright, Sir.”

He wanted to roll his eyes, and told himself this would take time. “I would appreciate it if you can spread that to the men, Commander.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Thank you, Cody. I –," his ear tilted, catching on to another thread of gossip, and his eyes widened, “oh dear. I see this isn’t the only misconception . . .”

Cody avoided his eyes. Had their friendship been that shallow? In the end it had indeed, but he’d thought—

But wait, they had only known each other six weeks at this time, was that not so? Some things took time. Took trust. Took honesty.

“The Jedi Order is unaccustomed to war, Commander,” he tried to explain.

Cody’s eyes were, as always, a mask, but was that a slight widening of the eyes?

“You may criticize our effectiveness, and you would be right in doing so. But, I hope that you will not impugn our honor. We have a code, just as do the _Mando’a_.” that _did_ provoke a response in his stoic companion, who stiffened his shoulders at the call to his _vod_ ’s code, and for the first time during their repast he felt Cody was really looking at him, his dark eyes meeting Ben’s blue. The Commander nodded, once. A smell gesture, but genuine.

It would have to do; he took another satisfied sip of too-bitter caf, then stood to leave, “I think perhaps, that I should go draft that report I promised the Council. I suspect we will be packing up off Christophsis within two days, if you can please ensure Major List is made aware? He’ll need to prepare a reloading schedule. Comm me should you need me.” 

Cody stood as he left, a quick salute rolling off him like rain on the pillars of Kamino, and Ben let his own uncertainty and anxiety flow into the force.

He did _not_ , contrary to his statement, immediately draft that report.

The impromptu mess was beside the quad, and the distance, the lack of understanding between the jedi and clones held meaning. It merited study. Was _this_ the lesson Qui-Gon intended?

A force assisted leap had him atop the comm tower’s roof, and he relaxed into a meditative pose. The sun had fully risen but was still low in the sky, warming his eye lids and the right side of his face. Bright, but not so bright as the river of the force, which sung to him as he closed his eyes.

 _A warm blanket of light. Multicolored threads woven in zig zag stitches that overlapped in an industrious, ever moving motif. The fine border weave held together large patches of blue and yellow, glowing warmly in the Force. More…alive…then he’d seen just 2 days ago or 11 years from now._  
  
Obi-Wan plucked at a threading, lifting it up to look beneath, seeking …. Something he knew not. 

There were many questions his past meditations had never been able to answer, prevented in part by his own fear and grief, yes, but…he would not shoulder the entire blame. They were bereft of other hypotheses! If Qui-Gon really meant to help him, then mayhap he was leading him to answers with this vision. Which led him to--

 _The Clones_.

No amount of meditation, rumination, or nightmares had shed light on their turn; he did not understand it. Had he missed some underlaying fear or resentment? Had they all been that blind? But no, that did not fit. No one is a good enough actor to feign that level of loyalty, that level of affection. Not after working together for three and a half years. _They would have died for me, and I for them._ No one could –

 _Palpatine did_.

 _My men are not Palpatine_. The proof was in the Force – there was no inherit darkness in the fabric woven by the men sprawling across the base. There were individuals, many, many individuals, and the usual foibles of that individuality, but . . . darkness? And yet, there _must_ be some explanation. What had _changed?_

He brought forward the impression he’d taken of CN-22-2341 on the med ship, before this journey through history had begun. Grey, half dead. Only a single thread of live force running the length of its spirit. It was…wrong. Unnatural. Perhaps if he compared –

His comm chimed.

Obi-Wan pulled back his senses, opened his eyes, and pressed the green button on his vambrace, “General Kenobi.”

“Master Kenobi,” it was Senator Organa, “Do you have a few moments? I wanted to follow-up on the matter you brought up yesterday.”

Of course he said yes.

~*~

“No, Padawan, you can’t come to—don’t touch those!”

“Why not, Master?”

“Because you might arm them! And I’m _not_ your Master!”

“Master Yoda says you are.”

“Well Master Obi-Wan _doesn’t!_ ”

“Are you sure? Have you asked him? I haven’t seen Master Kenobi yet, and I’ve been with you since we landed.”

Ben could hear the argument all the way from the command center, as the two wayward younglings exited the elevator, their repartee echoing along the metal corridor. Anakin was pushing a message furtively through their bond even as he entered, _You’d better clean up this mess, Master_.

He paid it no mind, being as he was in mid conversation with the grandmaster of the Order.

“—if you really think they are the better fit, Master Yoda.”

“Think, I do. Better Master for Tano, he will be.”

It was a perfectly executed faint—the pretense of an argument already lost. He expected Anakin to object, and like clockwork…

“Master Yoda, Padawan Tano should be trained by Obi-Wan. He is the one who requested a Padawan, not me.” Anakin had at least put some effort into holding his voice at an appropriate volume, his tone impressively even. He was working against an immovable force, however; he just didn’t yet know it.

“I may have put in the request, Anakin, but the placement of Padawans should be based on suitability and personality. The teachers in the Temple have a keen sense of what pairings might yield the best balance and growth. And they, and Master Yoda, believe that you and Ahsoka can learn much from each other.”

Anakin abandoned all pretense of a level head, “But Master! Knights are supposed to _choose_ their Padawan, not have them _assigned_. What if I don’t _want_ her?”

Ben did not move his gaze from Anakin’s face, but he could see Ahsoka stiffen from the corner of his eye. There had been a time, long ago, when _he_ was an unwanted Padawan. It was not a feeling he would wish upon anyone. And all the more contemptable that it was done in public. His reply was accordingly frosty.

“ _That_ , Anakin, is a change I recommended to the Council when I become one of their number. It is a practice long overdue for reform, and one that has led to the unnecessary loss of many a promising Jedi. Jedi we most definitely cannot afford to lose when we are at war.”

Anakin opened his mouth, automatically rising in objection, as was his natural response to any lecture Obi-Wan had ever given him, only to….miracles of miracles, the Knight snapped his jaw shut.

Anakin’s head tilted minutely, as if giving his brain room to catch up with his ears. “Wait—what? They’re no longer aging out initiates?” He looked over at Ahsoka, then back to Obi-Wan.

Neither of them need comment on her age. She could not be younger than fourteen. The age limit had once been thirteen.

“No, they are not,” Obi-Wan’s frost was now mixed with scorn, “As you would know, if you made any effort to follow Order announcements.”

Anakin sucked in a breath, having the social awareness to recognize that a misstep had been made, but too much pride to yet concede. “I’m sorry Master. That just seems like a really big…change. Is it not…risky to pair Masters with Padawan’s they’ve never met? Considering they need to work together for several years? I mean, is aging out really so big of a problem?”

Ben’s eyebrows rose even as his forehead creased into a frown. Had he told his Padwan so little of his own past? Or had he just not _listened_ when Obi-Wan had told him? His history was certainly on file in the archives—and did not every Padawan eventually search their Master’s records? 

Well….either the Knight was as dead to social niceties as was an epoie to grooming, or he was truly in ignorance, regardless of what had caused the gap. So Ben forced his tone to be instructional with only a dusting of ice.

“Anakin, you seem to be unaware, Force knows how, so I will enlighten you. I myself aged out of the Temple. I was working with the AgriCorps when, through chance and an ill-timed mission, Qui-Gon came to take me as his apprentice.”

Anakin appeared gratifyingly at a loss for words, and, perhaps more significant, Ahsoka’s eyes had widened, looking up at him with something akin to awe. _You are not alone, Padawan. And you are very much not unwanted_. The words were strong in his mind, and he sent the essence of them towards her in the Force. Without a bond, it would be but an impression, but…

Yoda, silently observing, chose the awkward silence that followed Obi-Wan’s pronouncement to interject, “Hasty, the Council was; and stubborn, my Grandpadawan was. Unfair, was our age limit. Remove it, we have.”

Anakin looked between Obi-Wan and Yoda, some weighty calculus churning in his head, and then he looked over his shoulder at the Padawan in question, whose eyes were full of a self-assurance that belied underlaying _hope…_

And then, for the first time in, well, time was a fickle thing, but the first time in a long time, Anakin made Ben _proud._

He turned around fully to face Tano directly.

“Come on, Snips, let’s get you settled in.”

~*~

“Learn to let go, Young Skywalker must. Teach him, this will, if see her Knighted, he does.”

Master Yoda’s voice held all the certainty Ben remembered and he couldn’t help the fond smile that rose to his lips. “I couldn’t agree more, Master. And I think they are well suited to each other.”

Yoda smiled back at him, and Ben felt his frustration with Anakin melt into the Force. _Ten years of teaching him, and all I succeeded in teaching was resentment and entitlement._ He had long ago accepted his role in Anakin’s fall; accepted his failure. He thought. But it still hurt. 

And yet, today Anakin had taken his decision. Had seemed…almost repentant.

_Is this your lesson, Qui-Gon?_

The response he was sure, would be an unenlightening, _‘Focus on the here and now_ ’

“Take this well, young Skywalker did. Surprised, he was, hmmm?”

Ben grunted in affirmation, focusing his attention on the old Master to pull himself back to the present. He felt his vision double, as he allowed his sense of the Force to overlay reality. Yoda was a furnace in the Force, nearly as bright as Luke. Flames wreathed his figure, casting a glow across the command room like embers falling from a hearth. He closed his eyes to savor the impression.

Whisps of light held amusement, approval, _warmth_ . . . a peaceful contentment… steadfast dedication. Resolve. _Figures the old troll would be made of pure grit_. On a whim, Ben wove some of the warm light into his own presence, pushing a curl of his whiter, colder knit back towards his Great-grandmaster so that balance remained.

“Hmmm.” He opened his eyes to Yoda’s narrowed brows, “Different, you are.” The wrinkled jowls of the old Master pursed in consideration as he squinted up at Ben. The stare continued for an uncomfortable length, Yoda’s long green ears twitching, his lips twisting up and down. A worthy repayment for Ben’s own stare “Meditate with me, you will. Tomorrow, yes?”

Ben bowed deeply, “Of course, Master Yoda. It would be my pleasure.” And it would.

But he did not have to read the Force to know that now was not the right moment. Yoda was here for a mission brief. So it had been, and so it was again.

“Discuss now your mission, we must.”

“Are we free to discuss it here, or would you prefer a privacy shield?” There were two communications officers and two guards on duty; the thought seemed not to have occurred to Yoda.

“Here we may speak,” he shuffled to the holo table controls. “Read your report, I have; but worry, I do not.” _Was our trust truly so absolute?_

“Very well, Master. What is to be our mission?”

Yoda inserted a data drive, and a map of the galaxy materialized in a blue haze above the table. “The holo relays. Control them, the Separatists strive to.” An array of single dots extended from the inner core to the mid rim, highlighted in yellow. With the press of a key, the yellow turned to red across several corridors, concentrated along the Perlimian Trade Route and Hydian Way, leaving the mid and outer rims near Felucia, Mon Calamari, Telos, and even Dathomir in a holo-net blackout.

“Other routes, the Republic must ensure,” another key press lit up a green path along the Kaaga run, which meandered from Bothawui, through Hutt space, to reach Felucia and nearby planets without interacting with the blocked hyperlanes.

“So you’d like us to negotiate with the Hutts.”

“Negotiate, No. Rescue, yes. The youngling of Jabba, kidnapped he was. Offer to help, the Republic has.”

“And what does the Council say about the Republic making a deal with slavers?”

“On the Council, you are. Know our opinion you do. But innocent, this youngling is.”

“Perhaps. But I sense a trap. Who was responsible for the kidnapping?”

“Hmmm. Know, we do not; Bounty hunters, we suspect.”

Ben shook his head. He was not certain, truly, why he was entertaining this debate. A debate lost already, long ago. But he persisted. “The Hutts sponsor too many bounties for a bounty hunter to risk angering. This was not the work of a bounty hunter. Master, this was the work of a rival, or the work of the Separatists. Perhaps both.”

“Certain you are? Know more than the Senate, you do?”

Ben raised an eyebrow, “It does not take a political adept to trace this intrigue, Master Yoda.”

Yoda barked a laugh, “Correct you are. Hmmm. But change nothing, it does. If Separatist work this is, more cause have we to intervene.”

“Unless of course it’s a _trap_.” Ben droled, “This is a lure – the Separatists _want_ us involved, which suggests we should do the opposite. Can we not focus instead on retaking the Perlimian and Hydian Hyperlanes?”

“Consult with High Command, you may. Hear your proposal, Meebur will.”

Ben nodded, “Very well. Anakin and Ahsoka can handle the rescue. I’d like to recommend that I myself continue on to Kamino to pick up the last of the first wave of Clone troopers, while my fleet deploys directly to Ryloth. I sense our presence will soon be needed.”

“Hmmm. Ryloth. Jedi they already have. Ima-Gun Di we sent.”

“One star destroyer and one troop battalion? I’m afraid they will not last long.”

Ben found himself at the other end of another considering stare. His great Grandmaster was squinting up at him again, as he had at the beginning of this debate, but instead of a scowl, he thought he saw a slight smile tug at the corners of the gnarled face. It was hard to say with his Great Grandmaster.

“Sense this, you do?” Yoda did not need to raise an eyebrow for his voice to carry his playful skepticism, “Felt this, you have?”

The quick step of boots on the metal floor interrupted Ben’s rebuttal. They both looked across the holo table to the door. Commander Cody’s grim face soon appeared, hesitating only a moment before approaching the table.

Cody snapped into a salute, “Sirs,” he acknowledged. His helmet was, as usual, tucked under his arm, but his usually placid face was taught, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. His eyes only belatedly focused on the holo projection, just then realizing he’d walked in on some sort of briefing. His face quickly adopt it’s normal mask, protocol overriding whatever dark thoughts were consuming him.

“Commander Cody, was there something you needed?”

Whatever had distracted him, the Commander was now fully in control of himself, “It can wait, Generals.”

Ben let a pause linger, giving room for Cody to change his mind. He did not, so Ben continued his crusade, ”Well I’m glad you’ve caught us. General Yoda has a new mission for the 501st, and we were discussing what’s next for the rest of the 7th Sector Army.”

Cody’s eyes narrowed on the holo projection, picking out the line of bright blue running from Bothawui through Nal Hutta then around the mid rim to the vicinity of Saleucami and Jabiim, “We’re going through Hutt Space, Sir? Might I recommend calling the Admiral?”

“Ah, not quite,” Ben stepped to the control panel and reoriented the map to zoom into the sectors that stretched between Christophsis and Ryloth.

“Before we broke the siege here, much of the Christophsis treasury was taken to Ryloth. This made Ryloth a target for Separatist control. They have laid siege to the capital Lessu.” Ben spoke entirely the truth, though he could not recall if it was a truth known by the GAR on this day and this hour. Such exactitude was hardly needed for this dream. Much as Yoda’s growing bemusement, clear in his expression as well as the force, need not hold him in check. What mattered was the strategy. This test of his ability to _change_ each battle.

So, continuing in his guise as a competent General, he clicked a configuration to zoom into Ryloth itself. “We have deployed one Legion along with a flotilla, but I don’t expect they’ll last long,” he rubbed his beard in the appearance of thought--thought he had of course put in, but long, long ago. “Tell me, Commander, have the men been trained in working with non-clone soldiers? untrained fighters?”

“You mean guerilla groups?”

Ben nodded.

“Not fully, Sir, but we can adapt. The 212th and 501st are comprised of early batches, which have some experience fighting alongside less trained shinies and trainies. For officers, Kamino reading curriculum covered local collaboration, and freedom fighter movements, but you’ll only find that with the CC and CMs, and maybe a handful of CTs like Rex.” He referred of course to the clone designations for Clone Commander, Clone Major, Clone Trooper and the like.

“That is a start … the 501st will be deploying shortly with Anakin, which leaves us with the 212th as the only experienced Battalion. If we wanted to cross train other divisions, would you recommend any structural changes? Mixed squads perhaps?”

Cody’s response was immediate, reflexive, “No sir, not squads. That might break unit cohesion. But we could do mixed platoons. Double up the Lieutenants and Captains, or put them on the same comms channels.”

It was the response Ben had expected Cody to reach, but there was something important, he felt, dream or no, in having the Commander reach it himself, “I agree. Let’s make it happen. I’ll have confirmation of our departure time after tomorrow’s Council meeting, but certainly we’ll have all of today and tomorrow to make ready. Can you work with Commander Keen and Commander Laar to prepare a roster?”

Cody nodded sharply in accord.

“I’d like one Battalion from each Corps – the Strike Corps, Storm Corps, and Sky Corps, tapped. That will give you 3 squads for each squad of the 212th. I want us testing half platoons by evening muster. With only the Sky Corps encamped here,” Ben pointed at the floor indicating the solid ground of Christophsis, “we’ll only be working with the 353rd and the 212th until we get back in orbit, but the Strike and Storm Corps can start building the other half of the platoons on the same timeline, aboard ship.”

“I’ll coordinate with Commander Keen and Commander Kenn to see it done, General. Do you want any special units pulled?”

Ben let images of Ryloth float in his minds eye, trusting the Force to guide him. All he could see, however, was the innocent blue face of a twi’lek child, running to hug her bedraggled parents, scrawny legs holding surprising strength. “I’d like a few med squads integrated – the 71st Med division perhaps.”

Cody seemed to be hanging on his orders. _Perfectly conditioned_. _Perfectly attentive_.

The observation would give Ben a chill if he allowed himself to dwell, so instead he gave the clone a cocky grin, “I’ll be needing Ghost company for the landing, of course.”

Cody’s mouth twitched. A lilliputian break in his armor, “Of course, Sir.”

“Certain you are, of the Council’s agreement, General Kenobi.” Yoda’s choice intervention, long in coming, was a statement, not an interrogatory.

Ben perhaps should have taken pause at it, but he did not, “Our Order lives in service of the people, Master, and I am quite certain this path will preserve the most lives.” He turned off the screen, effectively ending the debate. Then, in concession, tilted his shoulder towards Yoda to query, “Is there further mission details you need to share, Master Yoda? Or am I free to brief Anakin?”

Yoda glowered, thumping his old wooden cane against the metal floor, “Nothing further I have to say,” he lifted the gnarled branch to point it in antagonizing emphasize, “Meditate with me, before sunrise, you will.”

Ben bowed low, “I will meet you on the roof, Master.”

Yoda grunted, then stomped slowly away, leaving Ben and Cody still standing on either side of the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guilty confession: I wrote the trooper mess hall scene before firming up my plan to keep this story entirely from Ben's perspective. But, indulgent though it most certainly was, I liked it, so I kept it. Don't expect a repeat! I mean, yes, expect many more trooper, OCs, but only Ben's view of them :D
> 
> Repeating request: interested in being a beta writer, and can commit to reviewing about 10k words each week with an opinionated eye for description, dialogue, and grammar?


	7. Chapter 6: Chains

“General,” Cody let the title linger before initiating a new subject of conversation, “Yesterday you voiced concern that we had a communications breach.” Cody’s eyes were searching, and Ben didn’t know how to meet that gaze. “I believe I’ve found the breach, sir, with the assistance of Captain Rex.”

Ben did his best to maintain an aspect of lightly perturbed curiosity, “Elaborate, Commander.”

“We caught one of the sergeants spying on a private conversation between yourself and Senator Organa this afternoon. He’s confessed to passing information to the Separatists.”

Ben felt embarrassment creep into his cheeks and fought the reaction. He had been…quite open with Bail—what had he to lose, after all? But it was not the way he would have his officers, have _Cody_ , hear is concerns. Not when there was still so much uncertainty in the void of history between them.

“I see. That’s most troubling. You have him in custody?”

“Yes, General. He’s being held under guard in one of the rooms on the 6th floor.”

“Did he give a reason?”

Cody hesitated, “I think…it would be better for you to hear it from him directly, sir.”

“I … see. Do you have, the, ah, recording?”

Cody didn’t meet his eyes. _Chisk_. He did, however, reach into a hidden pocket underneath his armor and withdraw the device in question, and hand it to him.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to listen to this first.” He held up the offending item, then looked around their hall, wishing he knew how they’d organized the floors. There was always his own closet of a room…

Cody was carefully neutral in his expression and offered no guidance, so his room it would have to be it seemed. He led his commander to the lift, and held the silence between them until they reached his unassuming (and unlocked) door. The Commander turned then, making to stand outside it, but Ben waved him in.

“You’ve already heard it. No point in pretending otherwise.”

“Sir--” Cody objected.

“Shut the door, Commander.”

He held the record in his palm and pressed the replay button.

Salutations were exchanged between himself and Bail. A joke about the brandy. Some comments about the refugee program… and then—

“Master Kenobi – you have said you do not want an investigation.” Bail’s voice was overloud on the grainy recording. “And … I agree that shining a light on the origin of the clone army would do much to hinder the Citizenship bill. But, you _cannot_ expect me to leave it there. To think that – that – …. I can hardly even say it aloud. It is more than troubling. And it still doesn’t all make sense. Where would he have gotten the funds? Not even Count Dooku is _that_ rich. An investigation could tell us who else is involved. It could help us make sure there’s nothing _wrong_ with the army.”

Silence stretched on the recorder. It felt rather ominous, when put like that. Which was Bail’s point.

Then Ben’s own voice, a polished Coruscanti accent, broke the silence, “Terrible people bring innocent children into the world every day. The men I have met, the men under my command, they may be clones but they are all unique in the Force. I would not see their lives tainted by the darkness associated with their origins. And such an investigation could only but bring that association.” He had felt strongly about the words when he’d spoken them. But he was saying them to himself as much as to Bail. _Are they so innocent?_

He heard himself sigh, which was awkward to hear on replay, and then his tabards and armor were rustling. He’d been pacing, if he recalled; it was amazing the recording picked it up. Where the _kark_ had that bug been placed? 

And then his own voice was echoing out again, in a stuttering start and stop very unlike himself, “But… But I . . .” Another sigh. “I will confess that I had already planned myself to return to Kamino. The Kaminoan’s have been very careful in the information they have divulged about the men’s conditioning. They cite patents and privileged technology, but, I have found myself wondering if there may be more to it.” He’d become angry then. Frustrated. And with reason—Nala Se and Lama Su were the politest yet most evasive of beings.

“I _must_ find an explanation for – for -- I must ask if it’s possible for conditioning to strip a man of his free will.” And there it was. His greatest fear and greatest hope at once. Spoken openly, _heard_ openly, by Slick, and by proxy Cody and Rex. _Blast_.

Bail had been quick to jump on the notion, “Then you think there _could_ be a problem with the army?”

“I do not know. I do not know, and I’m haunted by the possibility that we’ve missing something.”

Ben stopped the replay. There was little else that followed, and this was more than damning enough.

He opened his mouth to apologize to the clone standing beside, but nothing emerged. What could he say? _I’m sorry I don’t—didn’t trust you? I’m sorry I hope desperately that there’s something wrong with you?_

The silence in the room felt tense, poisonous, held as tightly by the commander as by Ben. After waiting a minute for a saber to fall, Ben breathed out a sigh, and gestured to the door.

“Lead on, Commander. Let’s talk to the Sergeant.”

In entirely too short a time they were before the door in question on the 6th Floor. Captain Rex and Lieutenant Waxer stood on each side at rifle guard positions, guns diagonal across chests. Ben acknowledged both with a nod, but did not break his stride until he was standing even with the door. A keystroke on the control panel had the entry sliding open and he was face to face with ‘the traitor’, one Sergeant Slick. Cody entered one step behind him, and badged the door shut once more.

Ben had not known Slick before, except by name and dossier. Had faced him for all of 5 minutes before condemning him to lifelong imprisonment in a Republic facility. Or was he decommissioned? Ben did not even know. 

The clone was turned towards the door as he entered, body language full of righteous anger and scorn. His hair was a thick buzz cut similar to Cody’s, but shaved along the sides, and where Cody’s face was the unceasing calm in a storm, implacable against the tumult, Slick’s was the storm itself.

“Sergeant Slick, explain yourself.” Ben did the man the honor of looking him directly in the eyes, and if Slick was intimidated by the gesture, he hid it well.

His retort was a vociferous tirade, “What I did, I did to help my brothers. To set them free of the chains that bind them! To rid the galaxy of the ones pulling their strings.”

He seemed to expect Ben to interrupt him but Ben did not.

“You Jedi keep my brothers enslaved. We do your bidding. We serve at your whim. With a word you send thousands of us to our death. For no reason!” _Curious_. _There is real pain there_. “We are nothing more than cannon fodder and numbers on a holo table to you Jedi!” The finger he jabbed forward brushed Ben’s chest in mimicry of a punch. “I wanted something more.”

Ben remained impassive in the face the deluge, but Cody had reached his limit, “You wanted something more, and all you had to do to get it was put the rest of us all at risk. How does that help your brothers?”

“I…I love my brothers!” The break in Slick’s voice belayed his seeming certainty, “You’re too blind to _see_ it. But I was striking a blow for all clones!”

“If you loved your brothers, you wouldn’t have put them at risk. Had the general not changed our positioning, hundreds, if not thousands, of your brothers would now be dead!” It was only through the force that Ben knew Cody to be every bit as angry as Slick now. The commander’s voice, if pointed, was level.

“So _now_ you care about how many of our brothers have died? Where was your anger when we lost 50,000 men on Geonosis?! I’m not the traitor here, sir. You are! All of you just blindly following orders, for what? At least I got something out of the suffering I’ve caused.”

Cody _did_ lose him composure then, disgust fully on display in the curl of his mouth “And what was that, Slick? Money?” Ben found himself watching the Commander as much as Slick. Cody was a man of honor, until the day he wasn’t, and it seemed whatever code he possessed ran deep.

“She offered me something more important than just _money_ ,” Slick growled, “Something you wouldn’t understand. Freedom!”

_Freedom._

Slick wasn’t wrong. The Clones lives were defined by orders, not choice. Three million victims to add to the tally of billions this war would devour. Yet . . . had they not had their revenge in the end? Had Slick’s dream not come true? _No, do not think that. There must be an explanation._

Was there a price too high for Freedom?

_But under the yoke of the Empire they were hardly more than machines._

Driven by an irrational need to _know_ , Ben reached forward and clasped Slick’s forearm, his eyes closing as he instinctively fell into the Force. The contact startled both clones, their argument instantly dying; Slick attempted to pull back, but Ben held firm.

It was no machine before him. There was anger in abundance, but it was anger born from _hurt_. A heavy cord of red drawn from fibrils of purple. He reminded Ben uncomfortably of Anakin, of all people; all volatile emotions desperately seeking a foundation, mistaking passion for purpose.

Silence hung heavy in the room, weighted with anger that would not dissipate. Indeed, it was now tipping into rage, fear never a good addition to already dark thoughts. It was an assault to his senses. Ben opened his eyes, letting them pierce those of the man before him.

“Sergeant,” his voice was gentle, which only served to further discomfit the clone, “what did you understand from my conference with Senator Organa?”

Slick’s lips parted, perhaps surprised by the question, seemingly unrelated to his own shouted denunciations. But when his mouth closed again it was in firm, stubborn silence.

Ben tilted his head, his own face carefully placid. Waiting. His eyes, however, did not release Slick from his obligation to respond.

Slick chewed his tongue but finally admitted, “You think there’s something wrong with us, sir. Not only are we slaves, but we’re _broken_ slaves.”

Ben had not released Slick’s forearm, and he gripped it tighter now. “No.” He let his certainty be fully felt before continuing, “No, Slick. You and your brothers are _victims_. And that is not your fault.” Slick shook his head hotly, breaking their eye contact, but Ben did not stop, compassion overriding prudence, “But to free you from your enslavement we must first identify who _engineered_ your servitude.” Slick was forced by his own curiosity to meet his eyes again. “More pressingly, we must identify the extent of your chains.”

“The Jedi—”

“The Jedi _what_?” Ben couldn’t hold back the bite in his tone. _The jedi didn’t deserve what you would do to them, clone, and you know it._ It was a poisonous thought, unworthy of him, and Ben tried to push it down. Slick looked mutinous, but they had all heard the recording. The jedi had not commissioned the clones, had not paid for them. No amount of denials or long harbored resentment would change that. The other man kept is mouth shut.

Ben clenched and unclenched his jaw, letting his anger flow into the knots of his muscles rather than his voice. “The Jedi are peacekeepers, Slick. We were not made for war, and I will not pretend to be a perfect general. But we are defined by a moral code, one founded in the belief in life and liberty of all sentient beings. You and your brothers are each unique in the Force. You are _individuals_. I promise you that I do not view your brothers as slaves. You are charges in my care. Charges I very much want to help.”

Slick’s face was a study in conflict, but his anger still held a palpable tide in Ben’s perception, “Charges in your care, Sir? So we’ve traded a slave master for a jailer.”

Ben couldn’t help a wave of irritation, “We are all slaves to something, Slick. Slaves to duty; slaves to fear; slaves to the ties of family and brotherhood.” He forced himself to draw in a deep breath through his nose, and he released Slick’s arm so that he could cross his arms across his chest, unconsciously defensive. Bitterness was on his tongue, “You think you are a slave now; but you have more freedom than you know. You have been free, by all appearances, to become a Separatist spy. Free to punish blameless soldiers who have done you no wrong. Free to yell at your commanding officer. Yes, you have been free indeed! But you take for granted something far more important. Far more fundamental.” Slick’s sullenness was finally giving way to wary uneasiness.

Ben’s arms clenched around his torso, his own vexation building, “You are free to think, Slick. Free to like something or dislike it; Free to choose a _name_. You have free will. What I fear, and what makes you my charge, is that there may be a day on which that freedom is taken from you. That is the true meaning of my discussion with Senator Organa. That you and your brothers, who already have so little, may be stripped of your will entirely.”

Slick’s face was indignant. _He sees this as a moralizing lecture. A dressing down, not a warning._ _He does not_ believe _\--_

But Ben’s theory _must_ be true. _There must be an explanation_. To think otherwise was …

Ben unwound his arms, fear swimming in his head. Doubt and self-flagellation warred within him, driving him to do something rash. His hand found its way once again to Slick’s arm, and he—he took that fear and anxiety that simmered in his own stomach and _pushed_ it through his hand into Slick, that he may _feel_ the genuine emotion; the terrible dread that was the foreknowledge of the betrayal of his men; the horror of seeing the clone automaton on the med ship. The _deadness_ of the trooper, inanimate in the Force. 

And in that maelstrom of emotion, he taunted, his words prophecy, “You would be something far worse than a slave then, Slick. You would be little more than a droid.”

Slick’s eyes were wide in his shared horror, while his brows and mouth remained twisted in a scowl, creating an overall tableau of confusion. The pain he saw amidst that tableau shook Ben out of his own fear and he released his hold on Slick’s arm abruptly, dropping his gaze and stepping back.

What he had done was beyond rude amongst the Jedi. It was _wrong._ “I am sorry,” he rasped. “I should not have done that.”

 _Why in the galaxy am I telling_ Slick _this?_ _What can I hope to accomplish? Empty denials from an already faithless soldier?_

He let the Force flow through him again, feeling it’s currents. The tapestry of light swam in his vision, a chaotic school of ribbons that wove in and out, reflecting angled light to his senses. He forced himself to stand as a rock in the ocean, until the individual strands became a net, catching and rebutting the dark emotions that afflicted him. Once he felt at peace, he posed the question to himself once more. _Why am I telling Slick this?_ The gossamer ribbons of the force had become a sheet of silk, liquid smooth. He dipped his toes into the sheet with the question, and watched the perturbation that resulted ripple outward towards the clone sergeant. The ripples lapped against the frayed edges of Slick’s reds and purples, gradually plucking the fibrils until a loose thread flowed into the oscillating waves. Then the current shifted and the waves slowly wafted back towards Ben. ‘ _Possibility_ ’ the Force whispered. _Opportunity_. _Ripples._

“Do you truly want to help your brothers, Slick?”

Slick slowly nodded, still stripped of speech. 

“I do not expect you to take my claim on faith,” and Ben finally turned to include Cody in the dialogue, “either of you.” His Commander’s face was inscrutable as always. “Which is why I’m going to Kamino to see what I may learn. I believe I have a use for you there, Slick, if you are willing to take the risk.”

Slick raised a brow, _Do I have a choice?_

“There is always a choice,” he replied to the unspoken cynicism, “though some may be worse than others.” He raised his left arm, palm outward as of an offering on display, “If you join me on Kamino, there is a chance you will be decommissioned. But your presence will help me uncover more of this mystery than I can hope to do alone. And in that, you may very well bring your brothers freedom, just not from the prison you seem to think.”

Ben lifted his other arm, indicating the alternative end of the scale, “If you chose to say here, you will be sent to a Republic detention facility, where you will likely remain for the rest of your life. Alive, but confined. I do not pretend this is a happy choice, but it is yours to make.”

Some choices were not really choices at all. Slick would join him on Kamino.

“Cody, I need you to draw up a report for a malfunctioning trooper, with action of immediate shipment to Kamino for inspection.”

~*~

Ben tried to meditate, but his thoughts would not settle. Perhaps one could not meditate within a dream, or perhaps his subconcious missed the sound of rustling sand tumbling across the dunes of Tatooine. It did not matter the reason; the effect was the same.

_Why am I still here, Qui-Gon?_

He waited.

No response was forthcoming, and he found he really _did_ expect an answer. It had been two days. A worthy test. An impressive demonstration. What was the task his master had set him?

_The challenge is to envision a past moment so clearly that you can visualize the Force presence of that moment; then weave yourself into that moment’s presence… to put yourself in that moment…to gain insights into the emotions and energies of that time._

“Well, Master, I have touched a past moment in time.” He declared to the empty air of his metal closet of a room. Then, because he was so used to confessing his thoughts to that ever present ghost, he offered more observations. “It has been…much more _real_ than I expected. The people—Anakin, Yoda, Cody—they are exactly as I remembered, yet…unpredictable. Alive in a way my memory cannot convey. And I find my own emotions take the same course. I am able to shed the imprinted sentiments carried by a dream meditation, yet, I only replace them with even more weighty feelings from my future.” He took a deep breath. “It is maddening.”

The room replied with silence.

“I think I am ready for wherever it is you would take me next. I assume it is not back to Tatooine?” He tried for a direct question.

Nothing.

“Luke will be safe. For a time. There is nothing to draw the Emperor’s attention.” He spoke that thought aloud more for himself than Qui-Gon. “I think…perhaps…that you endeavor to remind me of what it felt like to fight. To be a part of something. I am ready to join the rebellion, if that is the will of the force.”

It was the most logical conclusion. The most actionable insight that could be drawn from this experience. Yet it, too, garnered no response.

It was not the first time his master had ignored a question. In fact, Ben rather thought it was Qui-Gon’s preferred method of teaching. He had been fourteen—a young padawan—when he first became acquainted with the power of that…well, at the time he had thought it intentional obtuseness rather than thought provoking silence, but it was certainly effective.

“Master, your plant is wilting.” Qui-Gon had been setting the kettle for tea, the ancient clay pot out of place against the clear glass heating element. Obi-Wan joined him at the kitchen counter, eager in the newness of their relationship to be seen as attentive.

Qui-Gon had merely raised a curious brow, “ _My_ plant?”

“Yes, the one you brought back from Mimban. I think you said it was a type of fern?”

“Ah, yes. Your plant.” He’d had his eyes on the kettle rather than Obi-Wan, as if this topic did not even merit his participation.

“Oh I stake no claim to it.” Ben had insisted.

“Is it not in your room?”

“ _Yes_ , but only because you told me it needed more sunlight, and my room has the largest window.”

“Mmmm.” Qui-Gon’s grunt was frustratingly ambiguous.

Ben had felt annoyed then—was his Master pawning off a plant he no longer wanted? But Qui-Gon had merely lifted the kettle to pour its boiling water into an equally archaic tea pot, and he’d let the topic drop.

A week later he raised the matter again. “Your osmunda fern has turned brown at the edges, Master. I think it needs something more than water.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. The leaves have shriveled, and its lower fronds have turned dark.”

“Mmmm.” His master had just returned from the archives, a loaned holocron in his palm, and at Ben’s question he had absent-mindedly walked into his room. By all appearances his master’s studies took precedence over any little plant.

Another week passed.

“Master, your fern is not meant for this climate, I don’t think it will survive unless we do something.”

Qui-Gon had looked up from where he sat at the kitchen table, cleaning his lightsaber hilt. “That is unfortunate, Padawan.” His tone had been uncaring, nonchalant.

Ben had considered carrying that thankless fern out of his room to the garden haven that was the room of a thousand fountains, and giving it a new home there. He’d also considered throwing it down the trash shoot. But, new as he was to his apprenticeship, he did not. He _could_ not. Each week that his master ignored the problem, Ben took some new action upon himself. He researched the species. What nutrients and water intake it needed. What climate was required. The soil acidity. In the end he’d wired two heat lamps to his window ledge, acquired a water mister, and volunteered in the rooftop gardens in exchange for a bag of soil acidifier and fertilizer.

He gave up on notifying his Master as to its state of health. Then one day, three months after they’d brought the plant home, Qui-Gon had asked, “How is your plant, padawan?”

And Ben had been able to say, “it’s happy where it is, Master.”

Qui-Gon had smiled, looked his young padawan in the eyes, and dipped his head—that subtle bow a master might give a fellow master.

Ben thought of that lesson often, when Anakin became his padawan. You cannot teach someone to care for another. You can guide them, give them a manual, but…it took more than instruction to _feel_ something. To accept a responsibility. Sometimes all you could do was observe, and hope the lesson would follow.

Was Ben caught in a lesson now? Was Qui-Gon pushing him towards a greater truth than what he’d supposed when he’d fallen into himself on Christophsis?

It would be just like him.

~*~

Ahsoka’s large eyes were glazing over across the holo projection of Teth temple, lids blinking slowly through the three dimensional mountain of grainy blue. Seeming to catching herself, she fidgeted, her arms moving across her chest. Long lashes flicked up to Ben’s presumably uninteresting face, then over to Captain Rex’s stern face, then to Anakin’s non-plussed face.

She made an attempt to blend in, her mouth tightening into a rigid mien, framed by her white and blue striped montrals, but it was ruined when pointy teeth chafed against her lower lip. The entire performance was quite endearing, Ben found. She was a truly wondrous addition to his lineage.

“So, we duck in, grab the _chuba_ , duck out, and run? That the sum of it?” Anakin swaggered. Ahsoka’s toothy smile widened, revealing a mouth full of canines. Togruta’s were carnivores, after all, though most in this civilized era forgot it.

“Yes, that’s the general notion, Anakin,” Ben replied.

“Sir, should we expect resistance?” Rex was destined to be the only one with any sense between this trio.

“From a certain point of view.” He could sense Anakin suppress an eye-roll through their bond, and saw Ahsoka’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. He would have to make a point to adopt Yoda’s cryptic phrasing more often, if its effects were always this salutary. “If you want a fight, you will get one, but it is possible to infiltrate the temple directly, by an air approach, or by scaling the cliffs.”

The holo table highlighted a topographic projection of the area in question on the planet Teth. “Stealth is the faster option in this case. Just keep an eye out for Ventress. We don’t know where she’s gone, but she’s definitely no longer on Christophsis, and this seems as likely a confrontation as any. You’ll want to hold yourself tightly shielded in the Force, Anakin. You too, Padawan.” He looked at Ahsoka until she nodded back.

“Of course, Master Kenobi!”

_Does she even know how to do that kind of shielding? Force, she’s so young._

“And when we have the little slug, we take him directly to Jabba?” Anakin asked.

Ben arched a brow, entirely unimpressed with the spiciest slur, even with his eight years on Hutt-controlled Tatooine. “Yes, you will take the youngling to Mal Hutta, then reconnoiter with the fleet at Ryloth.”

“Ok. Should be back in a week then, eh Snips?” Anakin was grinning down at his new padawan and she grinned back, pointy teeth sparkling in the artificial light of the command center.

“You got it, Skyguy!”

“Hey! I told you not to call me that!”

“We’ll work on it, Skyguy.”

“Who’s the master here, Snips?”

“Ahem,” Ben coughed pointedly. “One more thing – I’d like you to wear a body cam. Both of you.”

“Excuse me?”

Ben did not remember too many particulars from this mission. It had come from Yoda, not him afterall. But he _did_ remember being sent to Jabba by the Council to clean up the mess it left behind. And he had no more desire to spend eight hours negotiating with a slug—oh _kark_ it all, a _Hutt_ —then he desired spending the rest of his days eating ration bars.

“An audio-visual recording device, Knight Skywalker. I want you to wear one during the rescue.”

“Ohhhkaaaay. Want to tell me why?”

“I . . have a bad feeling.”

Anakin’s eyes rolled upward in exasperation, “Maaassteeer!”

But the threat of a day with Jabba was ample motivation, and Ben gave as good as he got. “You might make light of the force, but I do _not_ , Anakin. Yes, I _do_ have a bad feeling about this mission. The whole thing stinks of a set-up. Imagine if you and Padawan Tano were framed for the kidnapping as soon as you snatch the _sl—the youngling_.” Ahsoka almost laughed. “A recording offers us some defense, small though it may be.”

“Fine. Just don’t let it leak onto the holo-web. I have enough admirers already.”

Ben didn’t even pretend not to roll his eyes “Oh yes, Anakin, stop the Galactic presses! We have a new sweat stained video of Hero Skywalker saving the day to salivate over!” 

Then, miracle of miracles, Anakin grinned, and, just as on the day before, Ben found himself suddenly laughing. How? How could this comradery still exist after he had seen so _much_? He forced his memories deep down, and latched onto the instincts of his younger body, not wanting the moment to be lost.

But it was.

“Get moving you two – you’re to leave as soon as the 501st has transferred over to the frigate, _Hellion_.”

Anakin inclined his head in a departing half bow, with Ahsoka quick to follow. They left in a line—first Anakin, all forceful motion, then Rex, the blue-armored clone always diligently at his heel, then Ahsoka, the impertinent tooka.

“Captain Rex! Sir! Can I help with the loading??”

~*~

[… reinforce Lianna system as an early warning for Felucia.

Ultimately, Felucia remains an easy target, and, while their medical expertise is renowned, the majority of the GAR’s injuries do not require specialized care. My further recommendation, therefore, is that we distribute our recovery centers across our fronts, reducing transit times, and diminishing the target appeal of a single system. This reduction of transit times is worthy of note, as it optimizes key performance metrics, Time-To-Care (TTC) and Reinforcement Response Time (RRT). Suggested systems ( _planets and astronomical objects)_ : Lantillies _(p)_ , Botajef _(p)_ , Arkanis _(p)_ , Naboo _(p)_ , Eriadu _(p)_ , Arrgaw _(p)_ , Allanteen VI _(ao)_ , New Cov _(ao)_ , Enarc _(ao)_ , Pax _(ao)_. Recommendation is based on hyperlane junctions , current Republic domain, and affiliation with shipping, trade, or manufacturing specializations which could provide negotiation leverage.

Regarding our Grid 13-18 strategy (currently supported by the Third and Fifth Systems Armies), I recommend immediate reinforcement of Ryloth, which should be reclassified as a critical military target for the GAR. Reclassification is based on new intelligence, which indicates a substantial sum of luxury goods, with appeal to high value CIS targets which we might encounter enroute. See report 3SYS-Q16-1, chronicling our retaking of Christophsis in which Christophsis authorities have reported the theft of their treasury; interviews of their equipment suppliers supports theft was committed by guilds in league with CIS.

The Third Systems Army will be at full capacity in 4 days, following commissioning of 8th Sector Army. Barring contradictory orders, I will be directing the fleet to Ryloth.

Respectfully,

Jedi High General Obi-Wan Kenobi

]

Ben ended the dictation service, at long last. He slouched in his chair for a moment. It had taken him over two hours of reviewing troop positions and studying system maps to form a strategy, and nearly as long to draft the proposal. Brevity was always more challenging than verbosity. He forced himself to sit back up and began skimming the transcription on his data terminal, determined not to allow an awkward typo or misplaced word to undermine the message. He would never tell Anakin of course, but by the end of the war he’d come to rather enjoy the word smithing of _pointed_ GAR communiques. Felt he was, in fact, rather _good_ at them. His padawan painted all bureaucracy with the same brush, but this was hardly form filling--this was logical argument; _Negotiation_.

That did not make it less tiring, however. 

He tweaking his list of potential systems and read it again. Perhaps he should strengthen his argument around Ryloth?… He smiled to himself. Few would appreciate just how _aggressive_ a negotiation a military brief could be. Cody, perhaps.

His door alert chimed.

_What are the chances…_

_There is no luck, there is the Force._

He stood and stretched before stepping over to open the door.

“Good afternoon, Cody,” He welcomed his second-in-command inside with a gesture.

Cody dipped his head, “Sir.”

“I thought you might stop by. Can I offer you a seat?” He flicked his wrist towards the chair along the wall beside his desk.

“Ah, no thank you General. You were expecting me? Is there something I can do for you, sir?”

“I rather thought the opposite. You must have questions, Cody.” It was not a question, and he did not phrase it as one. He grabbed the back of his chair, and moved it back before sitting down, putting more room between the two of them, and attempting to reduce the tension that suddenly hung in the air.

Cody shifted, perhaps considering the chair, but he remained standing.

“I…do, sir. But I’d prefer to discuss it when you return from Kamino.” Ben couldn’t help a surprised hum at that, and he lifted a leg up to cross his knee.

“Very well, that’s sensible.” He leaned his elbow against his lifted leg so that he could stroke his beard with the supported hand. “What is it you wanted to discuss then, Commander?”

“Sir, I wanted to discuss security with you.”

“Security?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have a particular concern?”

“Actually, General, that’s my question for you. You seemed to know that Slick had been compromised more than 24 hours before he came under suspicion. I assume he was the breach in our communications you reported before the battle yesterday?”

Ben frowned. He had indeed tipped his hand. Of course, he had only expected this mirage to last a single day. Continuity was not a priority.

“You are correct, Commander. From a certain point of view.” He weighed his options, wishing his beard was longer. It was not so much of a stretch… “Did your training on Kamino include details on the capability of the Jedi?”

“Some, sir. I’d have no way of knowing if it was comprehensive.”

“Jedi are sometimes gifted with moments of prescience. In rare cases this can manifest as prophetic dreams or visions, but it’s not uncommon for us to have premonitions in the form of what you might call…‘feelings’.” He tried to read Cody’s face to no effect. Even in the force the man was stoic. “The other day I had the distinct ‘feeling’ of being watched. I could not be certain if the source was a recording device, or a person, but both options would suggest an inside job. A trooper. I did not inform you—” he saw Cody’s shoulders shift backwards, suggesting this was the actual root of his question, “—because I thought there might be an opportunity to take advantage of the situation to surprise our enemies. Which I believe it did. But, I will admit, that I also did not feel it was my place to question your brothers.”

“Can you elaborate on that, sir?”

“It has been made clear to me that we Jedi are outsiders. I did not want to make accusations that would deepen any existing mistrust.”

“If any of the men have said something inappropriate, sir, I can assure you they will be disciplined. Is there any particular trooper you’d like to bring up for report?”

“I— _no,_ no, Cody, no one specific. I didn’t mean to…” Ben pushed on both his knees to lean back as he sighed in frustration. “It is just a general sense,” He settled with saying.

“May I offer a suggestion, sir.”

Ben gestured dismissively with his left hand, tired of the verbal spar, “By all means, speak freely, commander.”

“A traitor is a traitor. No need to dress it up for the sake of morale. I can’t help you or the men if I don’t know what’s going on, sir.”

“Not all knowledge is so cut and dry, commander.”

“Even so, sir.” Cody was staring straight ahead, a pinnacle of certainty.

Ben suppressed an eye roll. He knew he should be treating this seriously (Cody certainly was), but this was less than a footnote in history, truly. His tone, accordingly, was perhaps a tad flippant, “I do apologize, Cody. I will do my best to keep you fully informed moving forward, and I promise to report any future concerns to you directly. Will that satisfy?”

Cody’s eyes darkened, though only the minutest crease at the corners of his mouth would suggest a frown, “Yes, General. Do you have any such reports to make at present?”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “No. No, I do not know of any other _spies_ sitting in our ranks, Cody.”

“And you don’t have any….’feelings’,” his pause put particular emphasis on the word, “you’d like to report at this time?”

Tired of being questioned despite knowing very well this was a mess of his own weaving, Ben didn’t control the irritation in his voice, “Not at the moment, _no_ , Commander. Is there anything else you’d like to address?”

Cody shifted his feet again, the only indication that he was at all discomfited. 

“Yes, Sir. I have an update on your request from this morning. Your orders for troop rearrangements have been sent and received, and will be active tomorrow morning. Slick’s orders have been sent, and I’ve tapped two men to accompany him as his guard. Do you have any other orders regarding your trip to Kamino, or our deployment to Ryloth?”

Ben hated how hard it was to be mad at competent efficiency. He stood, so he could be more or less eye to eye with the taller man. “There may be a few changes in the morning, but you’ve done the eopie’s share there. Thank you, Cody.” His tone was no longer flippant, nor irritated. “I’ll see you at roll call. I’d like to tell the men about the personnel shuffle directly.”

“They’ll take it better from you than me, thank you, General.” He saluted, correctly reading the exchange as a dismissal, and left with a brief palming of the door panel.

Ben returned to his terminal. If he was very lucky he might get a response from Military High Command by morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE kudos to my new beta a_wordsmith_and_dreamer, without whom the characterizations in this chapters would have had many more flaws, and the Qui-Gon memory would not exist at all.


	8. Chapter 7: Padawans

“Master Kenobi, early you are.”

“And yet not early enough it would seem.”

Yoda gestured to his left, and Ben took the proffered ‘seat’, merely one more empty stretch of metal on the curving roof of the command tower. His legs crossed easily into a meditative pose, the position a comforting constant, repeated nearly every day, for the entirety of his 46 years of life. And as reflexive as the positioning of his legs, came his morning stretches in the Force.

He let his senses flow across the encampment, feeling that multi-colored blanket of individual men, clones and otherwise, now softened in slumber.

His traversal of the camp and city was slow, meditative. When he was comfortable with its totality, he focused on the energies nearest him, in the interior of the command center they sat upon. He pulled some of the quilted threads his way, pushing his own blue and white gossamer strings back in balance, and was rewarded with a thrum of _resonance_. Him and his men, in equality. He let the vibration settle until it _sung_ within him. Savored the frequency, the harmony of light and energy.

He inhabited the tonalities and extended them outward towards the crystal towers that characterized the Christophsis landscape. He felt a moment of awe as the oscillations of Living Force met a shear wall of Unifying Force, a cacophony of possibilities instantly generated, some of dissonance, others contrapuntal, and yet others fully in symphony. He nudged the threads towards the latter most horizon, and his skillful modulation was rewarded with a reverberation of harmony, magnifying the chords of twined energies into a sonorous concert.

He knew not how much time had passed before he grew beyond the exercise, and allowed the energy to flow into the atmosphere, his senses alighting briefly on the Republic ships in space. It was akin to a long exhale after an invigorating workout.

Satisfied, he pulled his senses once more inward, appreciating anew the wonderful intricacy and richness of the Force—no, the galaxy—around him. And so it was, wreathed in polyphonic contentment, that he finally allowed himself that guilty pleasure he had so far restrained himself from. 

Yoda.

His presence in the force was an intricately embroidered down comforter. A voluminous blanket of warmth that could as soon swaddle him into a restful slumber, or be banked into a lofty flame.

Ben’s last parting with his Great Grandmaster had been filled with such grief. Such desolation. The last of the Jedi, parting ways forever.

It was a gift to remember another time. A conceit, really. Likely not healthy.

He savored it. Adored it. Wove his threads of affection, his own warmth, into that embroidery. Marveled at the tapestry they wove together.

“Learned new tricks, you have,” A grizzled voice broke his reverie. “Explain this, you will.”

The tapestry unraveled in an instant, and Ben’s relaxation was supplanted by a dark gimlet eye, focused intently upon his own face. Ben blinked, lashes fluttering in the transition to a physical reality, and he gathered in his periphery that it was now dawn, bathing them in pale blue light.

“We are all students to the Force, Master Yoda. I find it hard to believe you see in me a trick you do not know yourself.”

“Hmmm. Humble, you are _not_. And omniscient _I_ am not. Explanation, you will give.”

 _Ah, a test then? I did always wonder_ when _Qui-Gon began speaking to you…_

“Are you familiar with the studies of the Temple of Lothal, Master Yoda?”

The master mulled over the query, dark brown eyes lifted upwards in thought. “Believed, they did, that the Force and cloth, the same they are. A weaving of energy.”

“And is it not, Master?”

“Hmmm.”

 _Perhaps he truly did not know?_ Ben pushed a fibril of light towards Yoda.

“Hmmph. Taunt me, you will not.” Yoda swatted his knee, “Speak also, Lothal did, of communing with the dead. Of walking past dreams. Of journeys through time. Speak to me of youngling fancies, do you?”

Ben could not contain his laughter, his gentle mirth manifest on both the spoken and psychic plane.

“And this, master, is how I know I am in a dream. This has Qui-Gon’s humor all over it.” His chuckles did not abate, “Here I was believing my life’s story to be that of a tragedy, and I’m told instead that it is a fantasy!” He couldn’t control the laughs that continued to tumble forth, too content to be called hysterical, not balanced enough to be called _peaceful._ When at last the chuckles faded, they left behind a warm smile.

He extended his right arm to place a hand on his great grandmaster’s left knee, and leaned over so that both his eyes faced the wizened sage. “I have missed you, Master Yoda.”

“Gone, have I been?” The troll was glaring at him, his jaw scrunching in agitation. “Or gone have _you_ been? Gone now, are your senses, it seems.”

THWAK!

Ben recoiled as the master’s gimer stick abruptly struck his arm.

“Dreaming, you think yourself?”

WOOSH – Ben just barely avoided a blow to his back.

“A dream, you think this wood to be? Hmmm?”

THWAK! – the _kriffing_ thing clipped his knee that time, and he made a lunge to grab it.

“Qui-Gon!” Ben cursed softly, “you truly are a son of a gundark!” His lunge failed as Yoda twirled his blasted stick, reversing its grip; then he was outmaneuvered as the gremlin used the curved end of his gimer to hook the collar of Ben’s tunic.

“Speaking with Qui-Gon, are you?” Yoda’s dark eyes were fathomless.

“I believe he found Lothal Temple quite fascinating, Grandmaster,” Ben couldn’t help his cheek—this entire interaction left him feeling young enough to reclaim his old name of ‘Obi-Wan’, while Old Ben sat in the dust. Perhaps he would reclaim his padawan braid while he was at it. “Who am I to scorn the teachings of my master?”

“Foolish, you are. Imaginative, was your master. Younglings, you both have always been. Even when grey hairs, you grow.”

“Children see magic because they look for it, Master Yoda, not because it does not exist.”

Yoda stilled, and Ben felt the air shift around him. Chocolate eyes framed by green brows softened, their glare replaced with . . . _pride?_ But no, that could not be. The time for banter was over, and Ben was presented with the reality that this otherworldly being before him, with its over 800 years of wisdom, was looking at Ben as if it was _he_ who was wise; _he_ who had a lesson to teach. Ben pulled against the hooked wood that held him, uneasy.

But Yoda merely smiled. And then, to Ben’s everlasting surprise, the troll softly chuckled. “Wise, you are, _Master_ Kenobi,” the emphasis on _master_ both touching and a command. “Teach me to be a child again, you will. Let someone else be _old_ today, I shall.” He squinted pointedly at Ben and chuckled again. “Hmmm, yes, and see how long your hair stays orange, we both shall.”

 _Osik_. _Qui-Gon!_

He let out an undignified “Humph”.

Yoda just continued to smile.

Very well, if he was to play this game, he would make his master proud.

“Very well, Padawan Yoda--” the troll chortled--“we will begin by studying this offending stick of yours. You think you know it well, but know it well enough, you do not!”

He pointedly unhooked the gnarled wood from his collar, moving it onto the span of metal between them. “I will share with you an image of what I see in the force when I study this weapon, and then we shall see if you can pick out the threads of its tapestry on your own...”

~*~

By the time the seventh whistle sounded the morning muster, Yoda had begun to grasp--or at least to _see_ \--the thick cordage of particles and muted light that comprised his gimer stick.

Ben had not been ignorant to the gradual amassing of life in the square below them, as the sun slowly crept above the horizon, but that life had spoken only of _calm awakening_ , of _purpose, unity, brotherhood_. A blanket to his senses. The shrill muster whistle stoked that life now into hues of attentive yellow and tangerine, with translucent wisps of vermillion _fear_ and _thirst to prove_.

“Humph,” his new student grumbled. “Noisy they are. Appreciate they do no not, the study of sticks.”

“Colorful they are, my padawan. A rich canvas _you_ will soon admire, if you are diligent in your study.”

“Hmmmmmph. Console me, you need not. Happy I am with my stick today—”

In a flash the gnarled cane thwacked towards Ben’s knee, but Ben had not been idle in the morning’s lessons either. His own _sense_ of the offending piece of wood (as well as its owner) was such that he felt the filaments of light that ran through both shapes _shiver_ in premonition of a strike. And so, before the gimer stick could complete its motion, Ben’s own hand had matched it’s trajectory and _snatched_ the stick, freezing the attack a mere handspan from his knee.

Yoda withdrew the twisted rod, an innocent smile on his less than innocent face, then used the cane to get to his feet. Ben, in the full mien of a master chastising the haste of his pupil, took his time to unfold himself, stretching upwards in a sun salutation. He folded his hands on his tunic legs to brush pettily at fake dust on his obi, then in his own time he turned to face the head of his lineage.

As one they bowed to each other, equally low, equally full of respect.

“Thank you, Master Kenobi. Look forward to our next lesson, I do.”

“Thank _you_ , Master Yoda. You have made this dream truly complete.”

THWA—he stepped aside just in time to avoid a painful slap to his leg.

“Dream this is _not_.”

 _Perhaps. It truly is a marvel, how…energetic…this vision is_.

“Dream you do, of Council Meetings, hmmm?” Yoda dared Ben to argue. “See you in our meeting this morning, will I not?”

“Your logic is sound, Master Yoda. May it be as you say.” Ben inclined his head in another bow.

With a final glare, the green hobgoblin turned away and shuffled to the edge of the roof, before _falling_ in a measured Force jump. Ben’s gaze lingered at the spot his elder had occupied, savoring the memory of his presence. He walked to the edge and looked down at the square. Though only 0700 shipboard, the sun had fully risen over the Christophsis capital, affording him a clear view of his army. Squad roll-call was well underway, with every indication that the shuffle announced yesterday was already in effect, despite the roll call alternating between 353rd and 212th units, and despite individual medics getting integrated at the squad level. No ordinary army could achieve such order and precision, he knew.

Did _they_? _Do you know how special you are?_

The squads were falling in one by one to join a clockwise parade march around the square perimeter; each squad a straight row of 9 soldiers, or 10 where a medic folded in. PT today was to be the usual 3 klick run followed by calisthenics. Boring but effective. Exercises even a Jedi would benefit from. Ben observed the fall-in, allowing a full half of the men to begin marching. Then, with a small draw on the Force, and calculated trajectory he _jumped_ … landing perfectly in line with the outside end of latest row of men to join the parade.

_Time to sew a little chaos and see how they cope!_

The man he touched down next to visibly started, his peripheral vision as sharp as every clone’s. For a moment it seemed the soldier would break his stride, but years of repetition saved him from embarrassment. Obi-Wan himself matched their pace easily, compensating for his shorter stride by augmenting the strength of his legs with the force.

“Trooper!” Ben called over to his new companion.

“Sir, yes sir!” the high pitched discomfort in the voice was as clear an indication as the pure white of his armor that this row was a squad from the 353rd.

“What’s your name, Shiny?”

“CN-22-2341, sir!”

 _CN-22-2341…._ _CN-22-2341…. CN-22-2341. The number was familiar, but his mind was not making the link._

“I asked for your name, trooper, not your designation!”

“Sir? I—”

“You do have a name, I hope, trooper?”

“Uhm, not—”

 _CN-22-2341…._ _CN-22-2341…. CN-22-2341. Why was the number familiar?_

“You have 2 minutes to come up with a name, trooper. Who’s your Sergeant?”

“CT-22-88..”

“Trooper—”

The clone at the far end of the line looked over in time to intervene, “Sergeant Bee, Sir! How can I help you, sir!”

“Sergeant Bee, Unit CN-22-2341 over here has 2 minutes to give himself a name, and I’m not marking time while he does it. Take note of your present position in the rank and have your squad form up behind me. We’re going to lap these boys, double time.”

So saying, Ben _leaped_ forward, summersaulting in the conceited enjoyment of a young and durable back. His minds eye was drawn to an arc trooper line of the 212th six rows up, and this time he landed in the _middle_ of the formation, immediately forcing the two clones on either side of him to give way as his shoulders brushed theirs.

“ _Karking—"_

“Good morning, boys!”

“ _Osik—_ Good morning, General.”

“I understand you’re interested in ‘fresher duty, Arc Trooper. Is that true?”

Their awkward swallows were audible even amidst the thundering foot falls of the thousands of men that surrounded them.

“Uh, no sir, we’re happy where we are sir.”

“What are your names, Arc Troopers?”

“Trip, sir!” – “Can, sir!” They’re voices overlapped in their eagerness to answer.

“I could have sworn I heard you boys bragging yesterday about the great honor of cleaning the fresher. Are you calling your general a liar?”

“No, sir, but--” the voiced echoed.

“You know what happens when you Trip on your way to the Can, troopers?”

“Uh, no sir.”

“You fall in a pile of shit.”

“Uh…yes, sir.”

 _One would almost say they don’t appreciate my sense of humor_. “You should remember that the next time you think about tricking the shinies.”

“Loud and clear, sir!” Trip answered for them both.

“And I want a bottle of red sauce delivered to my quarters aboard ship ASAP. Is that clear Troopers?”

“Sir, yes Sir!”

“Good. Now who’s in command of this unit?”

“I’m Sergeant Vex, sir.” Again it was the trooper on the inner edge of the line who responded. “I apologize for these sons of banthas, Sir!”

“No need to apologize, Sergeant--today’s your lucky day! You and your men get to join me in double time!” The elite ARC troopers had the grace to withhold their groans, “Take note of your current position and fall out behind Sergeant Bee!”

Message conveyed, Ben _leaped_ back to the outer edge of the formation alongside Bee, who had managed to track his General’s jump and bring his men forward accordingly. The ARC Trooper line was quick to follow.

He double timed them forward again, stopped again to pick up a row… forward … stop … double time ….

… until he had a full Company -- 16 squads – at his back. And then it was time for _him_ to do some double time. _From a certain point of view_.

He let his Force sense flow behind him until the Company at his back was as familiar as a thickly woven cape, flapping with the wind, its every billow felt as a slight change in tension about his neck. Then he closed his eyes. The rhythm of their collective steps was an energizing thrum; the charged current of their lives telling him precisely where he needed to go. He had read of battle meditation; had thought, even, that he had experienced it at times. But that was before. Back when he was a naïve and hot headed new military commander. Back when he thought he knew what the Force _was_. His lessons with Qui-Gon had so many applications—applications he could not possibly explore in isolation on Tatooine.

_To what purpose? Will you join the Rebel Alliance as Bail requested? Fight in the thick once more?_

_Here and now, Padawan!_ He returned his focus to the tendrils of the living beings behind him, studying the way that the Living Force caused perturbations in the Unifying Force. As with Yoda’s gimer stick, those perturbations gave him a glimpse of possibilities, of futures, which were within his grasp…

Some time later the bright light of Cody’s presence pulled him out of his meditation. He opened his eyes, and it registered with him that they had lapped the entire army more than once, taking him parallel with Cody for what had to be the third time. Quickly, for they were already passing the line, he shot Cody the hand signals for “ _Stop”. “Question”. Stop?_

A single hand reply told him “ _No_ ”, but the commander held up one finger. _Ah, last lap then_. 

Ben used the Force to project his voice as he shouted over his shoulder, “FOLD BACK! Back into formation! Original positions!”

There was a moment of confusion, the troopers’ march falling off beat--which was rather the point of his intentionally sowed chaos. But then the by now heavily sweating troopers looked to their Sergeants to determine which direction they needed to move in order to obey, and the competence he knew to expect shone through. Shouts rang out as leaders directed their men and his impromptu Company rapidly dissolved, each line falling into single step or standing steps as they waited for the full battalions to catch them up.

Ben closed his eyes, following the re-organization in the Force. When the Army was whole again, he used his newly attained awareness of certain _individuals_ to guide him as he made one final _leap_ ….

… once again startling young CN-22-2341.

He remembered now, and he had to focus on his steps to keep time. 

_CN-22-2341. Good soldiers follow orders, Sir!_

The trooper on the med ship, grey and half dead in his sense; an affront to the vitality beside him that morning. If he’d harbored any further doubt, he let it go then. Something was wrong with the clones, but it was _not_ of their choosing.

“Trooper, I believe you have a name for me?”

“Guy, sir!”

It took Ben a moment to understand— _he couldn’t possibly mean—surely--_ Ben looked across the line to where Sergeant Bee was grinning, all teeth.

“Did you pick that name yourself, Guy?”

“Uh, my sergeant helped, sir.”

Ben guffawed, loudly, and was soon joined in laughter by most of the men around him. After all, _gai_ in Mando’a meant ‘name’. _Give a man two minutes to pick a name, and he picked ‘name’._

_Always did enjoy a good pun. No wonder Anakin calls me ‘old’._

Ben sent a nod to Sergeant Bee, “Ni ganar’entye brokar gar a pirur, Sergeant.” _I owe you a drink._

“Kih'parjai, General!” _No problem_.

The parade was brought to a standstill by a whistle call that began up front with Cody, and was echoed down the line. Three whistles and their single time turned to marching in place; another three whistles and all boots stopped in coordinated symmetry. A final three whistles and all troopers turned on their right heels, to face the interior of the square.

Platoon captains along the formation shouted as one, “Fall out!” and with a level of organization that took Ben’s breath away, even knowing to expect it, the troopers flowed like ants across the square in pre-ordained groups, to begin pre-ordained exercises. The second half of their morning PT. 

He was still surveying the controlled chaos in admiration when Cody found him.

“General,” he saluted.

“Cody,” he returned the salute, “I hope you don’t mind my interference. I thought a shakedown might do the new mixed regiment some good.” It was strange how Cody’s opinion mattered more than Yoda’s this morning, but, play acting the General as he was, he needed a lodestone.

“Not at all, General, it was well done.”

“The Jedi tend to prefer katas over calisthenics,” he gestured at the perfectly spaced groups across the square, “Do you think it would be a _good_ distraction, or a _bad_ one, if I were to practice them here? I’m hoping to … normalize … _jetti mand’bor_ and _jetti’kads_ , if you will.” _Jedi magic, lightsabers_.

Cody gave the question appropriate consideration, surveying the quad much as Ben himself had, then shrugged his shoulders. “It won’t stop the talking, General. But it might take away some of the fear. I wouldn’t hold back.”

Ben nodded and smiled, “Very well. I’ll keep myself over here at present. Carry on, Commander.” Cody nodded and stepped away.

Ben took his advice. He did _not_ hold back.

~*~

CLUNK. Yoda’s gimer stick hit the metal floor of the command center, once again missing Ben’s foot by a hair’s breadth. The game was very simple: try to hit Obi-Wan, while Obi-Wan used his sense of the wood stick within the force to avoid the same. His ‘padawan’ found it enormously amusing; Ben knew it to be positively annoying.

Especially while trying to stay focused in a Council meeting. Mace was even now asking him about the Hutt mission.

“…Skywalker departed?”

“Yes, Anakin and Ahsoka left last night for Teth.”

“Ah, so you’ve already received the intelligence from our scouts?”

Ben paused a beat, his foot moving momentarily to dodge another gimer jab. Had he received the intelligence? _From a certain point of view._

“Yes, they have both been briefed. I have utmost confidence that they will succeed.”

“Good. We should have new orders for you by the time your fleet reaches Kamino for—”

“Actually, Mace,” he interrupted, “As stated in my memo to Headquarters, I’d like to send my fleet directly to Ryloth under Admiral Yularen and Commander Cody’s command. I will take a patrol ship to Kamino to retrieve the 8th Sector Army as reinforcement, but with our special ship,” he wiggled the fingers of his right hand, “they should be able to make several drops to bolster the refugees until we begin our full assault.”

“Ima-Gun hasn’t reported in for the past two days, but we’ve no reason to suspect the situation is critical. I had planned to bring the First Systems Army there in three weeks time.” Mace subtly objected.

“With Christophsis cleared, Ryloth becomes an easy fallback for the Separatist fleet. I believe this is a case of ‘better too much support than too little’.”

Mace disagreed, “But would it not tip our hand? If we wait, we could bring in the two armies – the First and the Third—together in one overwhelming blow. If you go in now, you may contribute to an escalation of force.”

Plo Koon’s deep voice echoed in the holo, “Master Di was sent to Ryloth with minimal forces. I am concerned that we have not heard from him.”

“Indeed,” Ben drove his argument, “His single star destroyer and single battalion would be facing insurmountable odds if just a quarter of Trench’s Christophsis fleet retreated to Ryloth. We must assume the worst.”

Mace was cupping his chin in thought.

“Agree with Master Kenobi, I do,” Yoda’s wizened voice drew raised brows from Mace, and Ki-Adi Mundi exchanged a look with Oppo Rancisis.

“Very well, Obi-Wan. I look forward to Yularen and Cody’s reports when they arrive.” The Korun Master fully shifted his focus to Yoda then. “Master Yoda, we’ve had a request from Senator Organa. He’s aware of the food shortages on Ryloth and believes Toydaria may be willing to act as a supply center. However the monarch, King Katuunko, has demanded your presence specifically in the negotiations.”

“Know Katuunko, I do. Go to Toydaria, I will. But first, accompany Obi-Wan to Kamino I choose to.”

“Are you in need of replacement troops, Master Yoda?” Shaak Ti asked from her seat on Kamino.

“Full, my ships are, Master Ti. But company, I desire, and something to teach me, Master Kenobi has.” Another dodged gimer stick accompanied the claim.

“And what, pray tell, might that be, Master Kenobi?” Adi Gallia teased.

Obi-Wan’s answer was full of exasperation, “I think a lesson in cheek might be in order, but I will settle for a lesson in patience, my young padawan learner.” So saying he _grabbed_ Yoda’s stick as it reached its nadir mid-strike. Yoda burst into chuckling laughter.

His fellow council members looked on with raised brows, but were too surprised or confused to respond to the exchange. Perhaps they would dismiss it as a ‘lineage’ quirk. Obi-Wan used the distraction to seize back the thread of conversation.

“Masters, there is another matter I would like to discuss with this Council,” He gave them a moment to register his suddenly serious tone. With this vision quest, or whatever it was, lasting quite a bit longer than he’d expected, he could not very well tell _Bail_ something he would not share with his own council. There must be more to discover here than he’d thought, and he would need the help of the full Council—subconscious Force representations or not. “I will apologize up front, for I do not know if this has already been discussed prior to my appointment to this body.”

“Go on, Obi-Wan,” Mace allowed.

He paused, looking around the Command center, and considering his fellow Jedi. Had Cody not just lectured him on security, in some fashion?

“Actually, fellow council members, could I request first that we implement security protocol 6?”

He saw Ki-Adi exchange a look with Kit Fisto, and then with Oppo Rancisis. Eeth Koth seemed to be hiding a frown beneath his brown Zabrak patterning, while Saesee Tiin looked nonplussed.

“Obi-Wan, there is no security protocol 6. There’s no security protocol 1 through 5 for that matter. Spit it out.”

“Ah.” He swung aside another gimer strike from a still cheerful Yoda. Had they truly waited that long to adopt basic security measures? Of course they had. The Jedi were _not_ made for war.

“Well…then…of course….Let me explain. This is something I adopted from the Admiralty that we might benefit from,” he was glad Yularen wasn’t there to contradict him, “Protocol 6 calls for everyone engaged in a call to isolate themselves, and check for listening devices. A truly closed call. If on a command deck this means dismissing all clone troopers from stations. I also strongly recommend we begin adding secondary encryption to our communications. Encrypted with a key known only to council members.”

Oppo Rancisis and Even Piell were quick to second him. Both had long argued for heightened security at the temple, but it was not a popular topic before the war.

“Very well,” Mace agreed, “Master Rancisis, could you organize the encryption design and key distribution?” The masters long white beard swayed as he nodded agreement, the coils of his snake like body shifting in eagerness.

“With pleasure, Master Windu.”

“Will it suffice today, Master Kenobi, if we dismiss all personnel?”

“I think it shall have to. Let us each take a moment,” so saying he turned his back to the holotable, and shouted, “CLEAR THE DECK!” The troopers, who to a one had all clearly been listening, still jumped at the sudden volume in their General’s voice. A volley of ‘Yes, Sir’s was flung towards him as the four comms officers, and three command officers took to the hallway and only Cody remained.

“We should be less than a quarter hour, Cody. Have them stand at parade rest until I call you in, if you please.”

Cody dipped his head, echoing his own ‘Yes, sir’ and was out the door.

When it was clear the full council had followed his lead, he began.

“Has there been any further progress in the investigation into the origin of the clones?”

He was met with silence at first, and then Mace looked at him pointedly, “You may recall, Obi-Wan, that you were the lead investigator of that topic. Do you have something to share with us?”

 _Two can play this game._ “Indeed. But _you_ may recall, Master Windu, that my investigation was stopped by a rather trying stay in the Halls of Healing after Geonosis.”

“A new lead, you have?” Yoda’s scratchy voice was welcome, as was the reprieve from his gimer game.

“Not new, no – I had thought the Council might already been pursuing it, perhaps through our Shadow network,” he glanced briefly at Master Piell whose face was carefully unreadable. No one on the council spoke, and so he continued, “According to the Kaminoans, the clone army was commissioned by Master Sifo-Dyas. However, I checked our records, and Master Sifo-Dyas went missing, presumed dead, over a year before that order would have been put in, directly contradicting the Kaminoan’s claims. I also checked our accounting records—there has been no diversions of Order funds whatsoever in the past 10 years to such an endeavor – not that we could afford to commission clones even if we should want to. I think we must conclude in certainty that this army was not ordered by the Jedi.”

There were nods around the holo circle. This much was not a surprise, for everyone there well understood the tight budget the Order maintained.

“The question we have all avoided is, if not Sifo-Dyas, then who?” Even Piell summarized.

“Who indeed. Yet the clues are right before us – who was Sifo-Dyas closest to, in this order?”

Mace and Yoda shared a look, hazel eyes to blue flickering hologram; it was Yoda who spoke, his voice sad and truly old, “Dooku.”

Ben nodded. “Yes, Dooku. And who did Fett, the template for the clones, look to for sponsorship?”

“He claimed a Lord Tyranus—” Ki-Adi answered, but Ben smoothly interrupted him.

“—but he ran immediately to Dooku. The name ‘Tyranus’ is telling enough. In the native language of the Serennians it means ‘absolute ruler’.’”

That caused a murmur, as, in truth, he knew it would. The depth of Dooku’s treachery had not come to _his_ council until very late in the war. But…it _should_ have been known. The man was not exactly subtle, for all his keen intelligence.

“You’re saying, Master Kenobi,” there was respectful weight on his title when Mace spoke it now, “that you believe Dooku was the one to place the order for the Clone army.”

“Yes, I am. And I will go further – I believe Yan Dooku had already turned to the dark side when he did this. Which means we are fighting a war in which both armies were engineered by the Sith.”

There was vocal disagreement at that.

“You go too far.” “The dark side and the Sith are not the same!” “Dooku would never—” “The Separatists could not have--”

“Order!” Mace silenced them. Then he looked to Yoda, and all eyes followed.

Yoda’s ears were drooping, and he looked shrunken and too small in his robes. “Many, many years has it been, since my padawan felt at peace. More than ten years, yes. Know, I cannot, when he fell from the light, but so long ago, possible, it is, yes.” He wilted even further. “Great darkness I sensed in him, on Geonosis. Dark enough, perhaps, to be a Sith. Clouded, my vision has been.”

He looked up at Obi-Wan, and Ben wished fleetingly that Yoda could be again the child he had pretended to be that morning. Then Yoda spoke, and he felt the full weight of that regard, “Trust I do, in Master Kenobi’s sight.” That claim came with more responsibility than he wanted or deserved. “Contrived, this war may be.”

There was no argument, no protestations. Silence hung between the twelve of them.

Ben permitted the silence to linger, expecting Mace to reign them in, but the head of the order was as deep in thought as all the others. So he again took the silence as his platform to continue, “I will be on Kamino in three days to pick up the second half of the Third Systems Army. While there I will be recommencing my investigation. It is imperative that we understand every aspect of the clones’ design and shaping, and Lama Su has been hiding behind arguments of state secrets and property law for too long. We must insure the clones are not compromised.” Heads nodded at the proclamation. “Master Ti”, he focused on the respected Togruta, her large montrals framing a high cheek-boned face, “I must ask for your discretion while I am there. Perhaps even your… distraction. We cannot let the Sith know what we know, and if the Kaminoans are in league with them, that will be difficult.”

“I am at your disposal, Master Kenobi.” She inclined her head, “I believe I can provide…ample distraction if needed.”

He bowed in acknowledgement.

The call to action was all that was required to nudge Mace into command of himself. “We must also turn our investigation to the Senate, and the corporate guilds that stand to benefit from continued conflict.” He seemed to be ruminating aloud. “If this war is indeed the work of the Sith, we must look for who benefits, who gains power. Master Piell,” his dark, austere bald head turned to meet that of the Master of the Council of Reconciliation, “are you prepared to take on such an investigation?”

The named master nodded, his large pointed ears bobbing with his head. “The shadow council will discuss it, but we have some assets in places that could prove fruitful.”

Mace dipped his head, “We are grateful for their service.”

Ki-Adi bridged the topic Ben had been dreading, “Do we inform the Chancellor?”

But he need not have worried. When their sight was clear, the Council was not a naïve body. Mace was firm, “No. Until we know more—until we know how far this conspiracy extends—everything related to the Sith and this investigation must remain within this Council. This protocol… 6 … Kenobi has suggested is now our new standard. Are we all agreed?”

And they were. It was no easy thing, for the Council disagreed on almost every subject and votes were rarely unanimous, but when it came to the Sith, they must be united. As clouded as the Force had been on this subject, this unity was one thing that rang clear.

The meeting was adjourned.

His time with Yoda, however, was _not_ adjourned. A fact he was reminded of by the song of the Force, willing him to move as the _kriffing_ third leg of the grandmaster once _again_ WOOSHED in his general direction.

“Speak with Senator Organa, I wish to. Escort me, you shall.”

“Yes, Master.”

He shot a comm to Bail before ordering the men in the hallway back to stations. A brief exchange with Cody ensured the logistics division, including a likely very stressed Major List, would be made aware of their imminent departure to Ryloth, which concluded his most pressing obligations. Not that a conversation with Bail was ever unwelcome, but … their last conversation had led to a greater heap of trouble than he had anticipated, and he did not relish a repeat performance.

~*~

He need not have worried. Their talk with Bail was not long; the negotiations he had begun with King Katuunko were just that—a beginning. It would be up to Master Yoda to define the scope of Toydaria’s aid, and establish what level of Republic support they would require in turn.

“I must warn you, Master Yoda,” Bail said, “I got the distinct impression that the Toydarians were entertaining Separatist offers alongside our own. They mentioned something about a contest, and my translator could not tell me if the term was meant metaphorically or literally.”

“Worried, I am not, Senator. My thanks you have. Hard it is to begin something. Much easier, you have made my task. Joining me, will you be? On this journey?”

Bail took the invitation with grace, “I would be honored, Master Jedi, but I had planned to take my own ship directly to Ryloth. I’m given to understand they can make use of the new generators we’ve gathered on Christophsis, thanks to General Kenobi.”

_Alone? Are you mad?_

“Surely you can’t mean to go there unprotected, while the blockade is in place, Bail?” his concern made him speak out of turn, and with a tilt of his foot he _just_ managed to dodge Yoda’s reprimanding stick.

“I had hoped to leverage my position as a senator, Master Jedi.”

“A stealth ship we have. A problem this is not. Send your aid with Commander Cody, you will.” Yoda nodded to himself, satisfied with the clean solution. Bail looked between the two of them, uncertain where to begin.

“Is that the ship Knight Skywalker used to break the blockade here?”

“Indeed it is,” Ben confirmed. “You can direct your administrator to coordinate with Admiral Yularen, and with my clone commander, Cody. They can see to the loading of the ship, and manage aid drops. You would be welcome to accompany the fleet, of course.”

“No, no. This is fantastic—I had not expected the army to move so swiftly onto Ryloth. If your men can manage the aid runs, then I think I can do more good on Toydaria. It appears I will be joining you after all, Master Yoda.” Organa smiled at the thought, more than pleased with the turn of events.

Yoda’s unassuming gaze shifted to take in Ben, then glanced between the senator and his grandpadawan. Ben couldn’t imagine what it was he could have been looking for—Ben had stood placidly during this entire conference, barring the matter of reckless senatorial aid runs, and was presently standing comfortably, hands folded across his chest. Yoda narrowed his eyes, his warn robes swaying gently with the motion of the air, and Ben straightened. His mental eye once more moved to the location of an expectant gimer stick.

“Friend to the Jedi, are you, Senator?” Yoda spoke, all cordiality.

Put on the spot, Bail could only managed an uncomfortable, “the Jedi order has my utmost respect, Master Yoda,” his eyes a tad wide. He flattened his robes, the fine blue brocade no doubt a soothing distraction, while his diplomatic training caught up enough to school his features.

Ben wanted to laugh, but, in truth, he felt more than a little abashed. Trust Yoda to find the fissure in the tapestry of connection between them.

He had been treating Bail as the man he had known, many years from now. _This_ Bail hardly knew him; hardly knew anything about the Jedi Order. It was a testament to his character that he had taken Ben’s confidence with such grace. It was, comically, less within _Obi-wan’s_ character to grant that easy confidence in the first place. But if Ben had been stuffy in real life, there was no need for such stuffiness _here._ “Senator Organa has done a great service to the Republic here on Christophsis, Master,” Ben offered the two before him, “I have found him to be a man of honor, as well as action. The Jedi would be lucky to count him as a friend.”

So saying, he bowed deferentially to Bail.

Bail leaned backwards uneasily, though his expression was now carefully unrevealing. “I make no greater a service to the Republic than you yourself, Master Jedi, though I thank you for your words.” 

As if to shift the conversation, the Senator stepped back from the pile of crates that had become their conference table, their collective focus moving with him. Alderaani men and women, alongside a spattering of mixed species volunteers, were busy around them overseeing the loading of the Christophsis power generators for eventual distribution on Ryloth. 

Organa folded his arms, clearly appreciating the industry on display, “I wish more of the republic could see just what the Jedi are doing out here on the front. But more than that, I wish they could see how many lives are impacted by conflict in the outer rim. Too many people benefit from this war for it to end swiftly, unless the people are made to know the cost.” He glanced at Ben, contemplative, then returned to watching the shuffle of crates. “I didn’t want to mention anything until the vote had passed but, I’ve introduced a bill to increase news coverage of the war.”

“News?” Ben started, perplexed. “Isn’t the holonet already flooded with propaganda?”

“Propaganda, yes, but that’s not real news,” the look Bail sent him that time was schooling, as if Ben should know better. “No, Master Kenobi, my bill would offer contracts to private news corporations and independent journalists, with strict criteria. Their only point of access will be through embedded war correspondents.” The man’s warm light brown skin was lighting up with passion, “On Alderaan, journalism is an honored profession, one with a duty to serve the public trust via education. Truth and Accountability. We need journalists on the ground where these battles are taking place,” he gestured with an arm, encompassing their current view, “to show the Galaxy what is happening. To _teach_ our citizens about the cost of war. And,” He looked meaningfully at both Ben and Yoda, “the great sacrifices that will see us through it.”

It was Ben’s turn to shift uncomfortably now. He looked to Master Yoda, but the wizened creature merely looked contemplative. _Reporters? On the Front?_ It sounded like a terrible idea. And one wholly outside his time. Where had his sub-conscious contrived such a notion?

Bail was facing them now, expectant, arms across his chest in a defensive, if confident, pose. When neither Ben nor Yoda responded, he rose a brow.

“Master Kenobi—” and how he managed to fit exasperation into a tone that seemed so outwardly respectful was a study in vocalization “—you confided in me a concern for the role the Jedi have been forced to play in this war; and further, a concern for the role of the clones. It is my hope that this might give you both a voice, one unfiltered by politics.” His look was pointed, and Ben once again bowed. Master negotiator he might once have been, but the trappings of civilization, the complexity of political representation…he had left both behind over eight years ago.

“I trust your judgement, Senator Organa.”

“Hmphf. Judgement.” Yoda ruminated. “My own I withhold, until see these journalists I do.” A vision came to Ben of an ambitious reporter chasing after the troll, only to ‘accidentally’ trip across a gimer stick. It lifted his spirits enough to smile, and as they left the senator to return to the base, he pushed this new worry, this _change_ in events to the back of his mind.

This dream would surely end before it became relevant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The PT scene was one of the first scenes I wrote for this story, believe it or not, though it's changed much since its first draft :) 
> 
> Thanks again to my beta, a_wordsmith_and_dreamer!


	9. Chapter 8: The Chip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben feat Kamino. This one's quite long! (11k words), so settle in with a cup of tea! Thanks once again to my incredible beta a_wordsmith_and_dreamer!

“Studied my fingers, I have. Prettier they seem, than once I thought, mmmm?” three clawed fingers on a gnarled green hand teased him, wiggling before his eyes. “Humm hmm hmm,” Yoda’s laugh was a singing vibration in his closed mouth.

Ben affected the old masters stilted, high voice, looking at him through slitted lids “Luminous beings are we,” he hummed in successful imitation, “not this crude matter. Know this you did, but believe it, you did not.”

That earned him a belly laugh, and he grinned back at the wizened troll.

“Qui-Gon started with his fingers too, you know. Or so he said. But even on a sand dune I keep my nails too clean, so he had me start with my hair. I’m afraid I had the opposite experience as you—I never realized my hair was so _dirty_.”

“Lucky you are, that hair you have, youngling. Complain of it to me, you will not.”

When the laughs were mere chuckles, Ben gestured to the place beside him. He had yet to find a proper cloak on Yoda’s cruiser (the quartermaster had insisted they’d only been sent child sized robes from the temple), but blankets were easy enough to procure. He’d set them on the floor of the only conference room with a window. Yoda’s Venator class ship was identical to his own—the command bridge sat beside the flight bridge, both connected to the main body of the star fighter via a thickly reinforced neck, beneath which was the heart of the engine—the fusion generator. This conference room was in that neck, two floors beneath the bridge.

“Now, Padawan mine, you are tasked with studying a memory.”

“Mmmm.” Yoda’s ears twitched, “A memory, you say? Many memories I have. More specific, you will have to be.”

“Of a person. Qui-Gon. Picture Master Jinn, as he was when he was still my master.”

Yoda straightened, his smile becoming more reflective as he closed his eyes. “Know well, I do, the face of Master Jinn. Easy this task is.”

“Good. Then I will make it harder.” He waited another moment, allowing his own memory to crystalize.

“Imagine now what you think he might look like, if you could see him as you saw your hand. As ribbons of light and energy. A great tapestry unique to him.”

Yoda grunted. “Remember, I cannot, that which I have not seen.”

“Can’t you? Do you not know his personality? Have you not felt his Force presence? Known the touch of his hand, felt the waves of his emotion?”

“Related, these are not.”

“Are you so sure?”

“Hmfph.” Yoda’s grunt was tolerantly amused, despite his seeming irritation.

Ben rather thought that if anyone should be frustrated, it should be _Ben_. Yoda had learned in a few days what it had taken him _years_ to achieve. _A testament to the quality of the teacher, would you not agree Master Jinn?_

Well, perhaps it was a _little_ bit the student. But it was no censure to be beaten by _Yoda_.

Another ten minutes passed. Yoda occasionally hummed, but he was giving his full attention to the task he’d been set. It was a…synesthetic leap of sorts. Yoda’s understanding of Qui-Gon’s tempestuous emotions mayhap were leading him to shades of blues and browns; the roughness of Qui-Gon’s palms perhaps evoking the texture of a nylon strap. And over all, a certain _whimsy_ that was all Qui-Gon’s own would permeate the simulacra.

It would take time.

He wondered if the grandmaster’s vision of Qui-Gon would match Ben’s own.

Ben directed his attentions elsewhere. It was an interesting experience, meditating _in_ hyperspace with his new awareness. Any attempt to push his senses outside of the bubble of their gravitational well was akin to putting a foot outside a surface jet moving at top speed. You could do it, catching a fleeting glimpse of the greater world, but extend the limb too far and you might find yourself flung into the open sky, moving too fast for any rescue.

It was a bit of an adrenaline rush, though. A very dangerous, stupid adrenaline rush that he absolutely would not encourage _anyone_ to try, particularly not several times. One after the other. He wasn’t Anakin. He had his limits.

After the fourth try he shifted his focus to the vibrations that thrummed through the metal flooring he was currently seated upon. The generator. A hyperdrive required a tremendous amount of energy, the core of which was spinning straight below him, atoms colliding and splitting in a controlled reaction that rivaled the light of a thousand sabers. But unlike his kyber blade, the fusion core felt dead. Full of energy, yes, but not…connected to the living world. And it was, accordingly, quite bland in his Force sense. Monochromatic. _Bright_ , yes— _oh yes_ , and constantly moving, but _grey_. Muted. No effervescence. He could interact with it in the Force, he was certain, for the Force was in all things. But it definitely felt different in inanimate things. 

He couldn’t decide if it meant anything.

“Hmmm,” Yoda stirred from his meditation. “Helpful, this has been, though succeeded I have not.” He reached for his gimer stick, “To the Council meeting, we must go.”

Ben rose without complaint and followed him to the conference room nearest the bridge, where Yoda preferred to take his holo calls. It made a good deal more sense than the bridge itself, he had to acknowledge.

As the other councilor’s materialized, he realized with an uncomfortable lurch that this was more than a council meeting, it was another Armed Forces Leadership meeting. _I really must make a point to read that schedule…_

He focused his eyes on the clone commanders opposite him at the projector table. Fok and Gallant. The atmosphere on Yoda’s bridge differed from his own, but it was difficult to pin down why. Commander Fok and Commander Gallant both resembled Cody. It seemed quit stupid to say—they were clones of course—but Cody kept his hair in a regulation crew cut, carrying a bucket with minimum adornment, and these Commanders had styled themselves similarly. _Perhaps it is a Commander_ _thing?_

Regardless, the point was that from the outside view, one might expect this bridge, these clones, to be similar to his own. But this bridge held more…stillness. Peace, perhaps, though he did not appreciate the implication that his own was otherwise. 

The over-large face of Chancellor Palpatine swam in the top of his vision; the elderly politician was asking about hyperlanes and Ben studiously continued his inspection rather than examine the lines of that terrible personage. Fok and Gallant were looking at Yoda rather than the projector. The Jedi was perched on a stool clearly set on the bridge for this express purpose, and there was a look, ever so faint upon the officers’ faces, of … deference? Respect? Yes, it was something like reverence. _Huh._ So the troll had that effect on everyone, not just the Jedi? It was hardly fair.

Had Cody and Rex been there, they would have been paying full attention to the brief, or at last pretending to. And any covert glances towards himself and Anakin would have held only tolerant pertinacity, looking for the moment when their generals would have to be talked down from an utterly ridiculous battle plan. Rex would look at Cody with a raised brow the Commander would pretend not to share, and then they would both snap to attention, the model of perfect soldiers when he happened to glance their way. Yes, Obi-Wan’s bridge was more _casual_ , one could say.

“Master Kenobi?”

 _Kark. He’d missed something_. _Something…about hyperlanes?_

“Yes, Chancellor?”

Even the clone commanders were looking at him now, no hidden amusement to be found.

“Can the Third Systems rmy Astand guard on Arkanis if we relocate some of our medical fleet?” Palpatine was all affable regard, and if Ben didn’t know him to be a rancor in bantha hide he would have assumed that twinkle was a tolerant admonishment for his lack of attention.

But no matter. He had his context now—it appeared High Command had read his proposal for the dispersion of medical ships currently docked at Felucia station.

He spoke authoritatively, staring carefully at Palpatine’s forehead. “I cannot spare the entire fleet and still reinforce Ryloth, but we can split the 8th Sector from the 7th. What is the timeline you envisage?”

“Strategic Command has the details,” the Chancellor turned his head, and Colonel Meebur Gascon floated into the halo. The diminutive Zilkin benefited from the holo projection, as he now appeared the same size as Palpatine though in person he was of a height with Yoda. Turquoise eyes perched atop two eyestalks regarded Obi-Wan keenly, a four fingered hand stroking his gizzard. Ben uncomfortably dropped his own hand from his beard when he recognized the parallel.

“General Kenobi,” the voice was a sonorous baritone, “your proposal recommended several systems that would be impracticable without substantial negotiations, but in Arkanis we may have an opportunity. A small officers academy is already in place on that planet, an academy we were planning to expand. With that prospective expansion, the governing body of the system has already ceded imminent domain and right of transit to the system for Republic ships. The only aspect prohibiting immediate relocation is lack of a defensive perimeter, and lack of a stable supply of medical equipment and power generators. From your report on Christophsis, the matter of power generators has been solved, and Strategic Command is pursuing negotiations for medical supplies with Naboo,” he bowed at Palpatine, as the former senator from that luxury planet. “If the order were sent now, we could have two medical cruisers in orbit in eight days. But we will need continuous orbital defense for two months while signal relays and a remote cannon and mine grid are deployed.”

 _That was a rather long winded speech to arrive at a straight forward request_ , Ben thought. They would need his ships for two months, beginning eight days from now.

“Two months is a very long time to ground 5% of the entire Army, Meebur. Would not a rotation make more sense? Or direct assistance from the navy?” Ben searched Yoda’s bridge for his naval attaché…Admiral… _kriff_ it, he did not know. He looked to Yoda, but Yoda seemed unconcerned. Had he charmed his admiral as thoroughly as his clone officers?

Meebur’s hand had dropped from his gizzard, exposing his large, expressive lips, currently creased downward. “The navy’s position is that they lack the ships. Their entire fleet is in use by the Grand Army, or for Core defense, including orbital defense of Coruscant. I’ve reviewed their numbers and they do not exaggerate. They can spare the tugger ships needed to lay the cannon grid around Arkanis, but there’s not a frigate to spare. You are quite lucky, General Kenobi, that your 8th Sector ships were already launched before this hyperlane business got nasty.”

 _Thanks, Meebur_. “That leaves us with rotations, Colonel.”

Meebur’s round eyes blinked non-committally, so Ben turned to his fellow Jedi. “Mace, I believe you originally intended to take the First Systems to Ryloth. Perhaps you and I could alternate?”

“Let’s discuss it after you pick up the eight, Obi-Wan. You will have to be in position for the first two weeks, I think—eight days from now—but after that it’s just a matter of the state of battle in each fleet.”

Ben bowed, wishing a bow to Mace was not also a bow to the Chancellor in this video format.

The debate shifted then to Ryloth, which Ben would not budge on, despite accusations of rushed timelines and existing Jedi presence. And then on to the battles in the other grids.

He attempted to flee the bridge when the call let up, but was stopped by Yoda’s gimer stick.

“Other duties you have, Master Kenobi. Duties we will discuss, hmmmm?”

“Duties, Master?”

Yoda nodded, releasing Ben’s shin from the restraining length of his cane, then led him to a small bridge level conference room.

“New to your Council seat, you are,” Yoda lectured as he slowly crossed the distance, while Ben palmed open the door. “But stand before the Council, you have, many times, hmmm?”

“I suppose you could say that, yes, Master.”

“Think such meetings would cease to be, when begin, this war did, did you?”

Ben was having difficulty following. Of course they did not stop. He remembered hearing many reports from young masters and knights during his four years on the Council, though…he thought back…he supposed that had really only been the case when he was on Coruscant. And he’d been so concerned for Anakin that first year of the war. Had he…? 

“Two complaints, we have had. And a request for curriculum change, there has been. Then review new Master – Padawan pairs, we will.”

Ben had enough experience to know the importance of such seeming mundanities, but enough newly returned youth to chafe at them. And after all, what would be the point? He stopped shy of the table, even as Yoda sprung to its surface.

“Master Yoda, my time is short, and I would much rather spend it enjoying your company than attending to Council business. Come, can we not return to our meditations?”

The wizened being was chest high, standing as he was on the duraplast tabletop, and from that vaunted position he glared at his impudent grand padawan.

“Going somewhere, are you?”

Ben raised an unbelieving brow. The gremlin had seemed to follow his lead so far, in the fashion of many dreams that made no sense yet needed no explanation. There was no reason for this pretense.

At his silence, the furrow between Yoda’s brow ridges deepened. The crinkled rolls above the green creature’s nose tightened, giving the effect that he was sniffing some truth out of Ben.

“Await your answer, I do.”

Ben huffed. “Every dream must end, Master. This world cannot last much longer, and I am tired of pretending otherwise.”

Yoda’s lower lids rose, his gold-hazel irises flickering across Ben’s face. His expression was now more considering. He tapped his stick on the table top, a small clawed hand coming to massage his chin.

“Dying soon, are you?” Yoda spoke the question as a taunt; a rhetorical question.

Ben shrugged, uncaring. _Yes, from a certain point of view_. _I’m sure my time is not far, even in my reality._

“Dying soon am I, hmmm?” The grandmaster’s expression was more intent for his answer now.

Ben laughed, though the sound felt out of place in the small room. “I have begun to believe you are too stubborn to ever die, Master Yoda. But…I do doubt that I shall ever see you again. Not unless I dream again.” Ben drew his eye’s away from the grandmaster’s then, focusing on nothing and everything. This journey he was on was as much a curse as a gift. It teased him with friends, a chance for conversations he’d never had time for, even while showing him all the things he might have done better.

The other master was silent a long moment.

“When from this dream you wake, what difference will it make?”

Ben tilted his head back down to once more meet Yoda’s eyes at the question. “What do you mean?”

“Without purpose, such dreams are not. If a dream this is, change what, for you, will it?” Yoda’s hand had dropped back to his side, and he paced forward to stand at the table corner closest to Ben, since Ben had not deigned to complete his approach to the table.

Ben considered the ancient green being, uncertain what the other was expecting. He had wrestling with that same question since he’d arrived. “I suppose,” he said at length, “that I will return to my life with hope. Something I have been without for some time.” He brought a hand to his chin, brushing his still too-short beard. After a moments more consideration he added, “Perhaps I might join the rebellion, once I make sure Luke is truly safe where he is.”

Yoda’s brow ridges rose slightly, his left ear twitching. “Powerful, hope is. Yes, a good lesson that is. But enough it is not.” The grandmaster shook his head, to all appearances supremely disappointed. He bowed his head, turning away to pace to the other corner of the table, “Wasted, this dream has been, if your answer, that is.”

“But—”

“Think easy, such things are, do you?” Yoda shot him a censorious glare.

“I—” Ben was struggling to follow.

“—Think the Force gives to all such gifts, do you?”

That was too much. He could hardly be the first to have been taught this technique. Qui-Gon himself had—

“Think your time here, no effect it has, do you?”

Effect on what? On _Ben_?

Yoda had reached the far corner and turned again, fully facing his apparent failure of a grand padawan, and rapping his cane on the surface, beneath both hands.

“Waste time in your dreams, I would not. _Asleep_ , you are not. A _dream_ , this is not.” He rapped his gimer stick again for emphasis.

Ben could not absorb whatever message Yoda was trying to convey. Perhaps he was not ready, but he rather thought this was just his mind’s way of reminding him that his grandmaster would be cryptic in _any_ incarnation. He knew this was not a ‘simple’ dream. It was too clear, too chronological and guided. But visions were known to take such forms, and Qui-Gon’s meditations held that same aspect. If Yoda was trying to tell him this was not a _vision_ …that left few options, none of them good. For if he was _mad_ , or worse, _dead_ , then this hope Yoda so quickly dismissed was all for naught. No, it was far better to believe this a reflective vision than the alternative.

He tried to meet Yoda’s eyes, but his pupil’s kept dancing aside. His thoughts were not clear enough to counter the stubborn certainty emanating from the wizened troll, impossible though he knew the master’s claims to be. This was not something that could be argued.

Ben bowed, conceding the verbal bout but not the battle. “Yes, Master.”

Yoda narrowed his eyes, sensing the deception, but he was either content with the status quo, or aware that further argument was pointless, for he sat down on his table corner and gestured to the chair at the opposite corner.

“Much greater change, in _this_ time, can you make, Master Kenobi. Review temple matters, we will.”

“Yes, Master.”

Ben took his seat. If his last memories of his great grandmaster were to be of these dry matters, he would do his best to enjoy them.

~*~

_A report. Anakin’s report. About… Fives. Or was it Tup? A Jedi had died, a rogue trooper, or was it two rogue troopers? there was an investigation led by Anakin, and Anakin had submitted a report._

_Visualize the report, Padawan._ He could hear Qui-Gon’s instructions from long ago.

_I do not think I read the report, Master._

_Do not ‘think’, review your memories until you are certain, youngling._

He was certain he had not read the report. He would have to find another memory. There were not many candidates.

_There is a lesson in every memory, Padawan. Burying it won’t help._

He wished his Master were with him in this journey he’d been placed upon, but even his remembered wisdom was cutting.

He sunk into the memory. _I will only stay a moment, Master. You cannot ask more of me._

_He was soaked through, water slicking down his hair and dripping down the cliff face as he climbed._

_Drip._

_Drip._

_The Force told him to be wary, but he did not know from_ what _. His men would be looking for him, surely? Grievous was dead—what new threat was before them? But the Force was insistent, and so he climbed, and he worried. Worried what was happening to his men; worried that the drips of his robes would be heard. Worried why the sound of that artillery gun that had flung him from the cliff sounded so much like a GAR 2 nd generation plasma cannon._

_That was when he’d seen the first clone. White and gold—a trooper of the 212 th. He’d been leaning over the body of a young Knight assigned to the 353rd, a short cropped blonde, who had been well liked by the men for her crude jokes and playful personality. _

_He paused the memory to inspect the body. There were blaster marks on the side of the robe, but her hair looked charred. The clone’s words reverberated—_

_“She’s dead alright, CT-90378, I got her right in the head. One less traitor for the Republic.”_

_‘Traitor to the Republic’. The label that had been stamped on every newscast from the Core since that moment. The Jedi were traitors to the Republic. It was interesting how that exact phrase could have propagated through the GAR so swiftly. Too swiftly. It held meaning._

_He dragged his mind forward. He needed other words. Cody’s words._

_‘Did you find Kenobi?’ Cody’s voice had demand. It wasn’t robotic; it sounded like any other order. The trooper had objected, but Cody had insisted, his standard competence insuring the job was thoroughly done. The soldier protested again—‘But sir—’_

_‘Good soldiers follow orders.’_

_That was it. That was it. The same words CN-22-2341—‘Guy’, had spoken on the medical station in a future far, far away. The phrase was not arbitrary._

_A comm line buzzed, and a scratchy voice was heard, crackling from a holo-emitter, ‘Has my order been completed, Commander Cody?’_

_‘Yes my Lord.’ Ben allowed the incriminating words that followed to flow through him, needing only to hear Palpatine’s voice._

_‘Well done, Commander. Your service will be remembered in the new Empire.’_

_Empire. He had planned it from the beginning. Empire. Even if the clones could be convinced to betray the Jedi, surely they could not be convinced to betray the Republic? Kaminoan indoctrination revolved around service to the Republic. They could not possibly act so wholly against their conditioning._

A sound jarred Ben out of the memory.

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

Ben opened his eyes and turned to find a surprised and apologetic Bail Organa in the doorway of his self-proclaimed conference room.

“I didn’t realize anyone was in here. I’ll find another room. Sorry to disturb you, Master Kenobi.” The Senator looked as crisp and put together as always, fine purple robes shimmering in the lights he’d just turned on.

“No need, Senator. I’ve just been meditating. It’s a good room for it—not many have a view,” he gestured out the large window from where he sat, legs cross-wise. He was truly grateful for the break in his introspection. He could not inspect the memory without also inspecting his emotions, and they had been…turbulent at best that day.

“ _None_ of them have this view, actually,” Bail’s brow was raised pointedly, looking at that window and the trail of stars it exposed, though his smile removed any censure from the statement.

Ben forced a smile, and affected innocence “Oh?”

He was met by a huffed laugh. “I was looking for a quiet place to sit for a while, if you don’t mind the company.”

“Certainly. Would you mind if we kept the lights low?”

Bail clicked the small button by the door four times until all but the emergency lights flicked out.

The moment should have been awkward, but he had the unfair advantage of knowing Bail a bit better than this Bail knew him. And with that knowledge, he could say of a certain that Bail was a social man and did not, in fact, enjoy being alone. Ben conversely enjoyed being alone perhaps too much, and he did not think it was good for him to be alone with his head where it was.

“What has you seeking a quiet place to think? Anything I might help with?”

“Ahh, no,” Bail claimed a chair at the edge of the large table central to the room, giving him full view of the window, as well as Ben’s meditative pose on the ground. The Alderaanian’s dark eyes were perceptive, and Ben wished for the hundredth time he had a proper robe in which to curl his hands and hide his face.

Bail spoke lightly, “You’ll think me a sap, but I was thinking of my wife, Breha. I haven’t seen her in two weeks now, and with Toydaria—well, it will be a little while more.”

“I see.” Ben said softly. “You have commed her, I assume?”

“Of course. But some things…some things are not easy to speak of on a comm unit. Or at all, for that matter.”

“I know that well, unfortunately.” _Too well_. “If it would be of help, I offer you my ear. Or my silence, if you’d prefer to keep your own form of meditation.”

“Ha. I don’t think that floor is as comfortable as you make it look.”

Ben smiled, though the senator wouldn’t be able to see it, as they were both facing the large transparisteel window. He let the quiet extend, though, having no need for small talk. As many a bartender and priest had told him, silence was sometimes the most effective prompt.

Bail sighed.

“You will think me spoiled, I think.”

Again Ben held his silence.

“I… I thought I was going to die. And it wasn’t what I expected.”

“That is not an experience any person would take lightly.” Ben said softly.

“That’s just it,” Bail murmured, “I expected—I don’t know—for my life to flash before my eyes, for Breha to be the only thing in my mind, but…all I could think about was the size of the crack in the ceiling, and whether the supplies would get through. It was so…mundane. So…” There was a huff, and he thought Bail might have thrown up a hand.

“When you found me here, I was actually meditating on just such a moment in my own life.” He sensed Bail’s surprise, and his interest. “One minute I was scaling a cliff in a battle, the next I was falling. I had room for very few thoughts, none of them earth shattering. My overwhelming emotion was surprise. I was quite surprised to be falling. The beast I had been riding was falling along with me, and I had a fleeting observation that it was screaming, shrieking fit to burst my ears. And I was focused on twisting in the air to see below me, and then twisting to ensure I fell into water instead of onto rocks. And when it was all over, I just wanted to know _why_.”

“I appreciate what you are doing, Master Jedi, but it sounds to me like you were focused on surviving. Whereas I have no such excuse.”

“Do you not?”

“I was in a bunker. What could I possibly do?”

“You said you were looking at the cracks in the ceiling. Think back—if one had widened, would you have shifted your position?”

“Well…yes, but I wasn’t truly looking. I was … imagining it. Hoping I could know when the last moment came, I suppose.”

“And what would you do with that moment?”

“I would—” Bail broke off, giving the question more thought. Then he laughed, a low, gentle chuckle. “I would have sent my love to Breha.”

“Ah, so you see, you _were_ being productive, you were weighing the moment, so that you could make the very last count.”

There was a long silence as Bail considered this conclusion.

“Thank you, Master Kenobi.”

“I suspect, Senator, that Breha would have pointed you to this same truth, had she been here, but I am glad to have helped you reach it nevertheless.”

“It’s Bail, Master Jedi. And you know, I had been warned that Jedi can be, ‘stuffy’, I think the word was, but I think Breha would like you.”

It was Ben’s turn to chuckle softly. He wanted to tell Bail to call him by _his_ first name in return, but he did not know whether that name should be ‘Ben’ or should be ‘Obi-Wan’, and in truth, Bail had referred to him as Master Kenobi for so much of their acquaintance that it was difficult to imagine being addressed otherwise. So in the end he said nothing.

Bail, if he noticed, did not take offense. He contemplated the hyperspace contrails outside the window, then made his own attempt at guidance.

“And why do you still study your own experience, Master Jedi?”

Ben closed his eyes. _Perhaps I should not have mentioned it._ But the question had been asked now, so he gave his answer.

“I told you that when it was all over, I just wanted to know _why_. Even now, many years hence, I still seek that answer. I know _who_ shot me from that cliff, I know _how_ , but I do not know _why_ , not truly. I understand it in the larger scope of the galaxy, but not for the individuals involved. Why did _that man_ , pull _that trigger_. Do you take my meaning?”

Bail was silent for a span, long enough to make Ben suspect he was not the only one to study the art of conversation and confessions.

“The hearts of men, of sentients. Yes, one could spend a lifetime studying it, and still not find meaning. I would advise you, Master Kenobi, to not waste too much of your time trying. I’ve found that some people defy understanding no matter what the length of study.”

“Hmmm.” Ben hummed. Perhaps. But if that were so, then this journey of Qui-Gon’s was entirely pointless, and he could not quite bring himself to that admission. Not yet.

_It would explain why you are still here, would it not, padawan?_

_No_ , I will not be here forever, Master.

“A Jedi prizes their mind above all else, senator. You have issued me quite the challenge.”

“There is a proverb on Alderaan, ‘The purpose of a man’s heart is like deep water, but a man of understanding will draw it out’. You may find hope in that, Master Kenobi. But I find I take the view of another proverb—an drinking song, actually—that in life there are two things you should never believe: the tears of women and the hearts of men.”

“Your words might hold more weight, senator, if they were accompanied by a drink to go with that song.”

It was a companionable silence they sat in then. Sat, pondered, and meditated.

And then the hypertrail winked out, and Ben rose to see just which of those proverbs would be his to witness.

~*~

“I am sorry, Master Jedi, but it will take some time to fully examine this unit. We can notify you when our examination is complete, if you would like to tour the facility while you wait.” The Kaminoan scientist seemed earnest in her insistence that Ben leave Slick with her. She was leaning forward, her large black eyes and white irises meeting his own blue ones. Her improbably long neck was craned low so as to not tower above her guest, but with legs nearly as high as his shoulders, it was a wasted effort.

“I appreciate your consideration, Nala Se, but I’m afraid I cannot leave this unit unattended. The incident was too disturbing—too potentially dangerous—for me to leave him with you.” Ben saw Slick stiffen where he stood restrained by two troopers in unmarked white.

“Could you describe this incident? Your note did not specify the nature of his defect.”

They had reached the tricky part. That beat in the middle of a sabacc match, where a player might reveal a card for the greater reward of catching the tell in their competitor’s face.

“His behavior became erratic—violent. He attacked me—” Ben affected a deeply worried frown, “—shouted that I was a ‘traitor to the Republic’, and tried to fire his blaster. When confronted, he said that ‘good soldiers follow orders’.” Ben looked over at Slick, shaking his head in perplexed anger. Slick was looking back, in unfeigned betrayal.

“I didn’t do that! I never did that!” he was pulling against the grip of the guards. “He’s lying!” The guards were looking between Ben, Slick, and Nala Se, clearly perturbed by the sequence of events.

“You see?” Ben gestured to the protesting clone, his eyes fully on the Kaminoan before them. “I thought your conditioning made such actions impossible?”

Inside, he was smiling. For in that one show of his hand, he had his answer. Nala Se had stiffened at his recounting. It was subtle—a minute lifting of her nose flap, a small wrinkle in that craned neck, and a squeezing of the eyes—but Ben had been watching. Watching and sensing, his second sight fishing the current between them.

She had recognized his words. The words he had churned up from snatches of painful memory.

“That is indeed disturbing, Master Jedi. It is good you have brought him here.” She recovered well. “If you will wait here a moment, I must confer with one of my colleagues.”

She brought her large, three fingered hands together and inclined her torso in a bow, then walked out the rear door of the medical room.

“Sir!” Slick hissed the moment she disappeared from view, “Sir, what are you doing?”

Ben turned towards the clone and his guards, careful to keep his face impassive. “I am trying to find answers, Sergeant.” He tried to draw the man’s eyes, to convey meaning through that gaze. He had carefully oriented his body, hands across his chest, back to the door. “If I were you, I would be very careful what you say, if you want to stay in service.” He lifted his left hand up to his ear, and circled his ear with his index finger as if he needed to curl his over-long hair back. He saw the guard nearest him twitch. _He_ at least had understood the message.

They were being recorded. This was a show.

Nala Se returned with Lama Su, further proof that he had hit upon something meaningful. The prime minister had no place in a medical examination.

“Master Jedi,” Lama Su’s voice was low and soothing, but his grey eyes inspected Ben carefully.

“Lama Su! It is good to see you again, though I admit some surprise. We were merely discussing suspicious behavior in one of my clone units.”

“So Nala Se has informed me. I wanted to personally assure you that we will look into this matter fully. I know, however, that you came to retrieve the next batch of your army. Nala Se’s examination will take time. I thought I might bring you to your new commanders, so you could begin loading.”

Ben bowed to the prime minister, holding his emotions tightly within his shields, “I am honored with your presence, Lama Su. But I must repeat to you what I told your scientist, I cannot leave this clone without Jedi supervision. If you would like to call Master Shaak Ti here, then perhaps a tour could be arranged, but until then, I’d very much like to hear more about what kinds of malfunctions you think might lead to this trooper’s behavior?”

He lifted a curious brow, perfectly sincere.

“It is…a matter of some delicacy, Master Jedi,” Lama Su conceded, his expression equally sincere, “it would perhaps be better if we could discuss this in privacy, without your men.”

“I can personally vouch for these two guards—” that was more than a stretch, but he did trust Cody—“and if this damaged trooper is to be decommissioned, then it will not matter what he hears.”

Lama Su’s lips curled into something approaching distaste, but like all politicians, his voice was perfectly diplomatic.

“Very well, Master Jedi.” He gestured Nala Se forward, and she came to stand beside him. They both towered above Ben, but neck to neck, he could see that Lama Su was a full head taller than the scientist.

“We believe it may be a problem with his structural inhibitor chip, Master Jedi.” She said it so casually, as if it was a common place item. But in that one utterance she had sparked a firestorm in his head and his heart.

“Structural…inhibitor chip?”

“Yes. A bio chip intended to suppress aggression and other unwanted behaviors in a clone. The clone template, Jango Fett, demonstrated an undesirable level of hostility and combativeness. We wanted to insure our clones did not suffer the same flaw.”

“This chip—it is implanted in all clones?”

Nala Se nodded, “Yes. And I believe you can see from this accident just how important that is. This kind of unpredictable violence is what can result, should the chip be damaged.”

It was rather unbelievable. Bio chips in every clone? Behavioral control? And yet… _My clone troopers have turned on me…it is not an isolated incident…_

If it was such a fundamental aspect of the clone’s design, though, why was it hidden? That last truly did merit asking.

“Why was the Jedi Council not informed of this feature?”

It was Lama Su who answered, “The feature was requested by Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas when the initial order was placed. We assumed the Jedi were aware.”

“We were not. And this raises a concern that we may be in ignorance of other features as well. I must insist that you share with us all details pertaining to the clone design, including a description of any features requested by Sifo-Dyas.”

“We will send what we can, but our clone designs are our most valued property. We cannot release such technical information under any circumstances. This too was an aspect of our agreement.”

“An agreement you will send a full copy of to the High Council, I trust?

“Of course.”

“Good. Now, if we can return to the matter of this clone unit,” Ben directed their attention back to Slick, “I would like to have this chip removed, if you believe it to be defective.”

Nala Se looked regretful, but he knew her tell now, and knew it was feigned. “Unfortunately, the chips cannot be removed without permanently damaging the unit. He will have to be decommissioned.” _Which means it_ can _be removed._

“Sir!” Slick was again resisting the guards, and Ben cursed both the man’s obtuseness, and the cruelty that Ben must continue to inflict with his farce.

“Is there a way to scan the chip, to be certain that it is the cause of his behavior?”

Again Nala Se shook her head. “We must remove it to assess what portion of the chip malfunctioned. We can contact you when we have the results, and replace this defective unit with a new one.”

“I see.”

Ben looked between the three troopers under his command, and the two long-necked Kaminoans.

It was time for the backup plan.

“As property of the Republic, I cannot simply hand him over. Paperwork, you understand. And it will be several rotations before my new fleet is fully loaded in any case. I will keep this Sergeant under guard in the rooms you have provisioned for me until the necessary forms are approved. I expect it won’t take more than a day or two.”

Lama Su nodded eagerly, while Nala Se looked frustrated. Her nose flap was expanding and contracting with her breaths and her narrow lips were pursed.

“Of course, Master Jedi. I will show you there now.”

It took an hour of carefully worded inanities to be rid of the Minister, and Ben commed Shaak Ti as soon as he was.

“So you have found something.” Shaak Ti wasted no time when she entered. Large, striped montrals framed a high cheeked, delicate face, made larger than life by white circles around her eyes and forehead, on otherwise coral skin. Ben spared her only a glace, more focused on the droid that hovered at her shoulder.

“You brought it. Good.”

She raised a brow as they entered the welcome chamber of his small quarters, as if to chastise him for his doubt. “What is it you have found with Nala Se, Master Kenobi?”

Ben faced her fully, and made the pronouncement, “Nala Se and Lama Su informed me that every clone in the republic is implanted with an inhibitor chip.”

Slick was sitting in a chair in the corner, head down, but not restrained, the two clone guards still eyeing him from either side. They looked up at the two Jedi as they spoke. Shaak Ti’s brows had risen marginally at the new knowledge, but she seemed not to share his shock. At his own raised brow she offered him the context she guessed he lacked, “It is not uncommon amongst slavers to employ similar implants. Though they are more commonly labeled ‘control chips’ in that context.” He wondered, passingly, if such things were unnecessary for the Hutts. So great was their power and the reach of their fear that he did not think so. Or perhaps he had merely ceased caring enough to investigate by the time he made their domain his home.

“They claim it is to inhibit aggression, primarily.” He elaborated, for himself if not his companion, “and that the chips are impossible to remove without severe damage.”

“How convenient.” Shaak Ti echoed his own cynical opinion.

“Yes, quite.”

“May I examine a sample?” The grey metal droid hovering behind Shaak Ti spoke in a near monotone, but it’s choppy voice was something akin to ‘curious’ for a droid.

“We do not have one. That is why you are here. What is your service number, droid?

“My registry is AZI-345211896246498721347.”

“Ahh, thank you. For brevity’s sake, I hope you don’t mind if I refer to you as AZI-3 henceforward?”

“That label is not accurate, but as there are no other service models with a registry beginning in ‘3’, it will be sufficient at present.”

“Good.” Ben said brusquely. He had not Anakin’s affinity for these protocol machines, regardless of their specialization. “Can you tell me, AZI-3, how a bio inhibitor chip might be detected, outside of surgery?”

The lights across the droids mouth flicked in a running sequence as it processed the request.

“Most bio-chips are implanted in the brain, and are comprised of normal tissue. As such they may not appear on a standard scan. However a level five atomic brain scan may highlight any enlarged cell structures, including the layer of tissue needed to support the behavioral encoding.”

“And is such a scanner available on this station?” Ben wished he could merely read a dossier, rather than this tedious interrogation of a machine. But such were the peculiarities of technology that speaking interfaces had advanced far beyond more mundane methods.

“Of course. In the primary medical bay.”

“And do you have security clearance to access the medical bay, AZI-3?”

“Of course. I offer recurring and critical care to all clone units within Tipoca City, which requires regular access to all medical facilities.”

“One more question, AZI-3. You seem to have some familiarity with the topic of bio-chips. At what stage of development would a behavior modifying chip typically be implanted?”

This request took longer to process, the droid rotating through its memory banks. “Such chips cannot be implanted until the basic structures of the species brain are in place, but are most effective if installed before brain neural pathway related to emotion and cognition are fully formed. If the species in question is humans, this would make ideal implantation occur after birth, but before the age of six. In development enhanced clones, this would be in the third gestational period, or before the age of three.”

“And if implanting requires surgery,” Shaak Ti pondered aloud, “it would be much more convenient if they were still in tubes. So we must assume they are implanted in the third gestational period.” Ben tried to summon forward from the depths of memory just what those tubes looked like. He had toured this station before long ago, but had only an impression of rotating machines with jars that looked almost like light bulbs.

He paced the room, needing movement to organize his thoughts. They needed a chip…and they needed those blueprints. And, he looked across the room at the corner chair, there was also the matter of Slick. One of the guards was looking at him. The same one who’d understood his hand signal. Private...Fibs. This had to be distressing to them all—to sit quietly while others discuss devices in your own brain. Ben nodded at the trooper, hoping to offer him some acknowledgement; Fibs quickly looked away, as if embarrassed to be caught. But…it was Ben who should be embarrassed. He’d been ignoring the most important assumption--

“AZI-3, how dangerous is it to remove such chips?”

The droid spread its arms, a symbolic motion it must have learned by observing generations of clones shrugging. “It depends greatly on their location, size, and depth. I cannot advise until I view the brain scan. However there is some risk inherent in any operation involving the brain.”

Ben looked again to the troopers, and he made himself step before them. Slick lifted his head when he saw his boots.

“Sir?” his tone was bleak, seemingly drained of its former anger.

“Sergeant,” Ben began, be he wasn’t sure what to say—what to _ask_. Or how to ask it.

But Slick was as sharp as all his brothers, “You think those chips are the problem, don’t you, Sir?”

“Yes.”

“You think the longnecks are lying.” Slick didn’t phrase it as a question, but Ben answered anyway.

“Yes.”

“Then I want it out, Sir. I don’t care about the risks.” Slick’s eyes were on his now, firm resolve in the set of his jaw. And for the first time in their brief acquaintance, Ben felt something approaching…respect…sit between them.

“You will not be decommissioned, Slick. I will make you that promise, whatever else happens.”

Slick nodded, eyes still on his.

The exchange was broken by Shaak Ti, “What are you thinking?” The other master was regarding him expectantly, knowingly. Ben found it almost irritating. _I suppose it’s only fair they would think I have a plan, but I’m a Jedi, not a mastermind!_ Yet the annoyance was a fleeting thing, and then he was grinning, because, well, he _did_ have a plan. A risky plan liable to get them caught, but a plan nonetheless.

~*~

“…and this is the study hall. It has a seating capacity of five thousand, with each seat equipped with neural stimulation stations, holo screens, and nutrient drips.”

“How…wonderful.” Ben forced himself to say. He had vague memories of this room from his very first visit to Kamino fifteen years ago, and found himself as put off by it now as he was then.

“I have been reviewing the curriculum, and have introduced some changes you may be interested in,” Shaak Ti turned to him, a small, knowing smile on her lips. He was well acquainted with her keen wit—more than she with his.

“I’m all ears, Master Ti.”

“If I could find my astromech you could review the full change log, but I found their education on the subject of Jedi in particular was most lacking. Perhaps you have observed some misconceptions held by your own men?”

At Ben’s nod, earned from overheard whispers in a tented mess hall, she elaborated. “I’m afraid the Kaminoans based our depiction on rather archaic sources. The label ‘warrior monks with light swords’ appears frequently in their reading material. We are, apparently wise, celibate wizards, who wield magic with our thoughts.”

Ben’s eyes widened, and he flushed. There were truths there, if you squinted, but…

“And what has your correction to this depiction been, pray tell?”

“Ah, well, given the extent of indoctrination already in place, I thought it best to choose my interventions carefully,” she said airily. “We should henceforward be described as ‘warrior monks with a deep moral code. And light swords’.” _Ah, yes, of course._

“—and I have added a footnote on the translation of the word ‘unattached’, which, while some Basic translations encode as ‘celibate’, can also be translated as ‘single’. I believe this shall rectify much.”

Ben found his tongue running over his top lip, and was grateful his thickening beard hid some of his deepening flush.

“A _very_ important distinction, Master Ti. The Order is in your debt, surely.”

She nodded in serene aplomb, her light steps giving her the appearance of floating.

“In the next room you shall see—”

_Beeh-hhhrr Beeh-hrrrr Beeh-hhr_

Ben winced as an alarm shrilled. Red warning lights blinked on and off in a repeating dance across the walls of the observing lounge, and he looked to Shaak Ti. The Togruta master was already running to a wall terminal and he followed. She pressed a series of buttons then spoke calmly but firmly into the wall microphone, “Taun We, what is the nature of the emergency? Can I assist?”

“Oh! Master Ti!” a light female voice responded, “I’m so glad you reached me. The defective clone brought in by Jedi Master Kenobi has escaped. He was last seen on the other side of the complex, heading towards the docks. We fear he will attempt to commandeer a flight pod!”

“That is very troubling indeed. I will contact Master Kenobi. We will divide our search and attempt to contain the trooper. Please keep me updated.”

“Of course, Master Jedi!”

Shaak Ti killed the line, and turned to Ben with a raised brow.

He summoned a frown, “I will search this end first in case he has doubled back.”

“I will meet you at the docks.”

They parted with no further words, both jogging to their respective destinations. _Three lengths of the observatory…past the tube rotator...second door on the left…_ memorized directions repeated in his head. He ducked inside the room in a last minute turn, gesturing with his arm to turn away the camera he knew would be above the door.

The durasteel plate slid shut behind him. He let out a breath. The room in question as filled with so much brilliant light in his senses—hundreds of precious bundles of luminous yarn—that it had taken real focus to assure himself that no _adults_ were present. But there were none.

“R3,” he spoke aloud.

A series of beeps and pops came from his left, and a purple painted droid rolled up to his knee. Shaak Ti’s astromech droid was the only qualified machine they had available for this task, but she was hardly subtle. She beeped at him in seeming impatience and Ben felt she was rather proving his point. He quickly turned his back on her and shuffled to the main terminal on the tube machine before him. The gentle hum of a motor told him the astromech was following.

“Ok R3, I need you to look for any procedures, including injections, coded into this processor.” He gestured at the access panel, and before he could speak further, the droid had popped out a spring activated pair of plyers and pried the panel open. The droid let out a satisfied beep at the port behind the door, and Ben echoed her relief—it was a standard connection, not a custom Kaminoan design, which seemed to require a different adaptor in every room.

The astromech’s top spun as it sifted through the memory banks, and Ben let his eyes more thoroughly examine the room. Up close the tubes were quite innocuous. Glass jars, gently rotating, holding a perfectly metered nutrient blend and a fully formed human baby. Every once in a while he would catch one open its eyes. They were just on the cusp of graduating out of the tube stage.

It was the juxtaposition that gnawed at him, he thought. The antiseptic shine, and motorized conveyer belt. Dehumanizing such a…brilliant array of sentients.

R3 beeped in agitation, and he looked down at her. “What is it, R3?”

The screen flickered and he blinked to focus.

“Immunizations…growth hormone…genetic stabilizer…no, none of those…neural inhib—yes! That’s it! Good job, R3—download everything related to—” The single lens on her domed head rotated in and out and she beeped in annoyance, “Hh? You’ve already done that? Does it include blueprints?”

Her rolling legs moved her forward and backwards and she seemed to _hop_.

“They’re in the…PLC? What the _Sith_ is a PLC?” More beeping and she flashed an image on the screen, “ _Fine_ , I will look it up later. Just tell me where it is!” How Anakin dealt with these infernal beasts he did not know.

When he she posted the diagram of where she needed access he cursed again. This was not going to be at all subtle if they were interrupted. But there was no help for it. He closed his eyes to relax into the Force, the lack of visual stimulation helping calm his thoughts and _focus_. When he opened them again, he viewed R3 through the lens of threads and energy, and with the curl of his fingers he _lifted_ her into the air, straight up, to the very top of the same column she’d been working at below. She beeped at him in satisfaction, and he focused on keeping her perfectly level.

The download only took moments—apparently these ‘programmable logic controllers’ were some sort of crude manufacturing computer, regulating a single process. R3 seemed to think very little of their memory capacity in any case.

Mission complete, he positioned her carefully behind the bulkhead she’d begun her day in, waved the cameras back to their original orientation, and sprinted down the hall towards the docks.

Shaak Ti was at a standstill when he arrived.

“Sergeant Slick, I am ordering you to walk away from the ledge, and come with me.”

“They’re going to decommission me! I’m not going anywhere until I get a promise, in writing, that I won’t be decommissioned!”

Ben took in the tableau—the escaping trooper was on the edge of a landing pad—an _empty_ landing pad. Six meters away stood Master Ti, flanked by two white clad clone guards, blasters ready. The escapee looked terrified, and angry. Unstable.

Either Cody had chosen his men _very_ well, or Private Fibs was most definitely not a private. That kind of performance took creativity. If everything had gone according to plan, the _real_ Slick would be one of the men behind Shaak. Ben felt a wave of relief, bleeding away his adrenaline. The furthest left trooper was swaying ever so slightly, his hands on his blaster not as steady as they should be. But he was _alive_. _Aware_. _Responsive_. 

The surgery had gone well. It was the only conclusion he would allow himself to draw.

“I’d rather march away under the waves than have my mind be taken away. Made to forget everything I am!” Fibs, their new Slick, was shouting from the precipice.

“Trooper! Sergeant!” Shaak Ti yelled, reaching out to stop him, even as Ben shouted “Wait!”

But it was too late. Fibs took a step backwards and plummeted downward. He saw Shaak Ti close her eyes, and had to force himself not to interfere. He must trust her, and he did trust her, but—

He let out another breath when his senses told him the plan had been executed. She had cushioned his fall. So long as he hadn’t lost his rebreather, Fibs would be fine.

Ben walked down towards her, sadness and frustration a mask on his face. Nala Se and Lama Su were approaching as well, from the building on his left. They did not exactly hurry, a concept the Kaminoans seemed not to fully understand, but there was concerned urgency in their glide.

“Master Jedis, I am most sorry for this incident. We would be happy to replace the lost unit. I believe this is further proof that he was indeed defective, as our scientists have told you,” Lama Su’s tone was apologetic, “Do you know how he first escaped?”

Ben spoke from behind his fellow Jedi, “I sent them to the medical bay to get a general physical. It’s standard for our medical forms, so that I could complete his record before handing him over to you. He must have made a run for it from there.” Ben wiped a hand through his overlong hair in a feigned show of stress, then looked to Shaak Ti, with the glance of a subordinate to a superior. That part was not entirely contrived—her relationship with the Kaminoans was much stronger than his own.

“The Republic thanks you for your generosity, Minister,” She bowed to Lama Su. “This event has greatly saddened me. I hope we do not encounter its like again. Trooper Slick seemed genuinely ill.” Master Ti imbued the words with sorrow, and even Ben would have believed it genuine.

“With the behavioral chip damaged he likely was, in a way,” Nala Se’s words were intended to offer closure, but they did not. It was a blessing they were all wearing masks of one kind or another.

“If you will excuse me,” Shaak Ti bowed, “I must draft a report about this incident. And we will need a death certificate for Sergeant Slick, to send to the Army quartermaster.”

“Of course,” Lama Su and Nala Se both bowed.

Master Ti floated smoothly from the scene, Ben and their trooper guard in her wake.

It was an hour before another distraction could be made to retrieve a soaking Fibs from the ocean on the tube side of the complex and smuggle him back in borrowed white armor. An hour further for Shaak Ti to discretely ‘find’ her lost astromech.

But it had worked.

“You did well today. All of you. Very well.” Fibs was showered, and Slick was back in the corner chair, his head leaning back. His head had been entirely shaved and a blue disc was settled against his skull at the site of removal. The final trooper was the only one still in armor, seemingly uncomfortable in just his blacks with the two Jedi in the room.

“Thank you, sir,” Fibs and his fellow guard parroted back. Slick was silent, but where that once might have been sullenness, Ben felt it was now something different.

“Slick, we are going to do a uniform swap to get you discretely onto Master Ti’s private transport. Then she will be taking you to Coruscant. From there, we’ve arranged for the Jedi Order to lend you funds to travel to any planet you can reach, and start a new life. We ask only for your silence. If our enemy discovers that we know of this…chip…I cannot say what will happen.”

“No, General.” Slick said. Ben fell silent. If Slick would not agree to silence they were in a very awkward position.

“No, I don’t want to run away. I want to help my brothers—that’s all I’ve ever wanted. I…understand if I can’t stay with the GAR, but you must have a use for men with my skills. I can help. I’m still _worth_ something, sir.” His tone gained a hard edge.

“I…” Ben looked to Shaak Ti. He was out of his depth.

Shaak Ti turned her knowing gaze fully onto Slick, and the Sergeant straightened under her eyes. It was a touch galling, how rebellious the man could be to Ben, only to appear the model soldier beneath the other master. _I wonder how long it would take for Yoda to turn him into a sycophant?_

“We shall consider your request, Sergeant Slick. You are right, there is always a use for men with a specific set of skills.” The words seemed ominous to Ben, but Slick was almost grinning.

“Until then, I would like to see this ‘chip’. And the files retrieved by my astromech. Come, Master Kenobi, we have much to do.”

And, as much an obedient servant as Slick, he followed Master Ti to the terminal in the second room of the suite, and they got to work.

~*~

“What do you look for?”

It had been a day since the ‘prisoner incident’, and they had as many questions as answers. He had taken to his usual brooding, but Shaak Ti seemed to find solace in her daily work on Kamino. The Togruta master did not move her eyes from the observation window as she replied, “Many things. As a trainer, I watch for cohesion, and problem solving. As a Jedi, I watch for initiative. Individuality.”

“And do you find it?”

“Not at first. The Kaminoans are good at their work. But if you watch long enough, you will see it.” She was looking down at the large room below them, her attention focused.

“There--” she gestured through the glass, to the right side of the training course, and Ben stepped closer to the glass to see for himself. “You see the trooper behind the barricade, second from the back?” he did. “Watch as he hesitates every time the turrets fire.”

Ben watched. The trooper pushed his left foot out, swinging his gun round the short wall that was protecting him to gain line of sight. Blaster bolts shot out from the turret and his foot retracted, “He’s nervous,” he says.

“Yes, but look closer. Watch his helmet.”

He saw the trooper’s hand come up, but could not see Master Ti’s meaning. “His hand,” she said, “every time the guns go off, he makes a motion with his right hand to the side of his helmet. As if he is trying to curl a lock of hair behind his ear.”

She withdrew her gaze, turning finally to look at her fellow Jedi. “None of the others in his batch do that motion. It is…unique.”

Ben smiled, “I see.”

“Do you?”

“What more am I missing?”

She canted her head, contemplating what lesson she would put before him. “The clones produced today are distinct individuals, in spite of their engineered origin, but their differences are subtle. Important, but not…too noticeable. But the Kaminoans have, at times, experimented with their template. Introduced more aggression, or perhaps more intelligence, and observed the result. These changes were much more significant.”

“I’m not sure I see where you are leading me. Are they still experimenting?”

“They are not. But, you, Master Kenobi, are about to.”

“About to what? Experiment?”

“I have reviewed the data you extracted from Slick’s chip. The Kaminoans did not entirely lie—the chip _was_ inhibiting certain facets of the clone’s brain chemistry. It is an inhibitor chip, in some fashion, whatever the Sith encoded portion might contain.”

He grunted. “Then it is doubly good we have found it. The clones are sentients. Whatever limits are placed upon them should be theirs to choose.”

“I agree, Master Kenobi _,_ ” she arched a brow, a skillful gesture that had Ben suddenly remembering that she had spent far longer on the council than his three months (or even his four years). “I merely point out that with the chips removed, you must be prepared for the changes your men will experience. You must prepare _them_ for those changes. For they will not be so subtle as our trooper down there—” she pointed through the glass again in emphasis.

He swallowed, chastened. He had not considered---

She was right. The PLC blueprints retrieved by R5 revealed two neural zones on the chip, and Ben had been so relieved, so _vindicated_ by the first zone he’d all but dismissed the second. For the first proved something deeper at work. It was only after consultation with Oppo Rancisis that they could even recognize it for what it was--a series of coded lines, written in a Sith language long thought dead. But even without knowing its contents, he knew it was the answer to his search; the answer to the sudden turning of his men. Nothing written by the Sith could be good.

Yet if he remained here for their removal, his men might change from the men he had known. A week ago he would have paid the concern no mind. In truth, he still paid it little mind, but…the longer he was here in this…whatever it was…the harder it was to maintain his distance.

He bowed, “You have given me much to think on, Master Ti.”

She inclined her head. “You are not alone. It is a change we must all consider, if we are to accomplish what must be done.”

_Change._

“It _must_ be done, you can have no doubt of that,” he affirmed.

Her response held no hint of annoyance, and yet he felt somehow that he had disappointed her. “I do not doubt it, Master Kenobi. It must be done, and it _will_ be done. But it must not be done blindly. We will discuss this again after the Council Meeting. Perhaps by then we will have more insight.”

It wasn’t a dismissal, but Ben felt chastened enough to dismiss himself nonetheless.

~*~

The rust stratifying his interpersonal skills was even more evident when the full Council convened. 

“Master Kenobi, we cannot just…schedule brain surgery for three million troops and expect no one to notice!” Mace was clearly on his edge of patience.

“You would prefer to leave them in, then?”

“We would prefer a _plan_ ,” Eeth Koth threw up his hands.

“I _agree_ ,” Ben was barely containing his own frustration, “which is why we must involve the Clone Medical Corps.”

“Even ignoring these chips, these clones are sentients, and like all sentients they can be corrupted by their own desires, just as this Sergeant Slick was. How can we vet their loyalty?” Ki-Adi pointed out, “We cannot take the risk of one of them turning, let alone what a Sith command at the wrong time may compel them to reveal, Master Kenobi!”

Ben gritted his teeth, “Even so.”

“Enough!” Mace decisively brought the argument to a close. When everyone had caught their breath, he lowered his voice and turned his oppressive eyebrows on Ben.

“Kenobi.” He waited until Ben was well and truly paying attention, “until we have a more…scalable method of removing or deactivating these chips, we must keep the circle of knowledge small. You may inform a small group of clone officers whom you will vouch for. No more than five. Will that suffice?”

Ben grudgingly found himself nodding.

“Meanwhile, I want you to send this trooper—Slick—to us on Coruscant. If he is as willing as you say, we can use him as a messenger, and possibly even an informant, if we can replace a clone in the Coruscanti guard. Have him bring a copy of the data you’ve transcribed. We can divide our efforts.” Again Ben nodded. This particular command he had already anticipated.

“Now, Master Rancisis,” Mace shifted his gaze, “I wanted to inquire if we have any resident experts on the Sith alphabet?”

The Thisspiasian master allowed his long snake-like body to coil more tightly as he thought. “None fluent in such a dark language, but we do have an archivist—my former Padawan actually—who has made a study of Sith artifacts as a hobby. It might be his knowledge will prove useful.” His long white beard rose and fell with the motions of his mouth, accentuating the side to side sway of his body.

“Good, good,” Mace nodded, “I will have him deployed with the others. His name would be Master…?”

“Knight Sam Rexmar.”

“Others? What others?” Ben frowned. He didn’t quite follow—just who was being sent where?

“They should arrive in the Kamino system in two days, Kenobi. You’ll find out then.”

Alarm bells rang in his mental ears, but he forced himself to practice a bit of the Tatooine patience he had been pretending to forget for the last thirty minutes.

Mace unfortunately took his silence as a victory, for he continued without comment, “Master Ti, we will need you to continue monitoring the Kaminoans for signs that they have noticed Kenobi’s intervention. I’d like to send you two knights to assist with the monitoring and defense of our operations there. Do you have anyone you’d recommend?”

“I will give it some thought. Perhaps someone with technology skills,” her hand curled around her chin where she stood beside Ben, and he envied her quiet strength, as well as her knowledge. As Yoda had implied with his lecture on Council duties, Ben’s awareness of the younger generation of Jedi was…lacking.

Mace still had the floor, “I had much the same thought, Shaak. You can send me any recommendations in your own time. Master Mundi….”

Like all Council meetings, it was not brief, but it did leave him feeling more settled. A course had been set, and they would move towards it as one. He could only wish his own course was so clear. Yoda’s words haunted him.

_Without purpose, such dreams are not. If a dream this is, change what, for you, will it?_

He had learned something _concrete_ now. But what did it change? In physical age the clones would be…what, 45? 50 in his time? Of an age with Ben, which was of an age to fight. But he would be surprised if there were even a million left alive, and that was nothing in a galactic rebellion. No, this insight held meaning _now_. It gave him no leverage _later_.

_Wasted, this dream has been, if your answer, that is. Think your time here, no effect it has, do you?_

He wished it did. Perhaps…perhaps he could stay in this dream, and tell himself it meant something.

_Would that disappoint you, Master? If I went mad?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Several parts of this episode were taken from the CW show (AZI-3, brain scans) as shameless homage.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! It is, I assure you, very motivational! Our Ben will be obtuse a few more chapters yet, but I hope it's written in such a way you still find it believable ;)


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